


charlie gets brainwashed

by ApprenticeofDoyle



Series: doc and dayman [2]
Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Ableism, Charbitch, Falling In Love, Flowers, Fluff, Foul Language, Guns, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Scrabble, Sexist Attitudes, a 5+1 fic in disguise, and scientist is just sweet, attempted kidnapping?, but it's not a conspiracy it's just a couple of dates, canon-compliant to season 9, canon-typical levels of crack, charlie is oblivious until he isn't, doc and dayman 2: reloaded, mac's anger issues, the gang loses their fucking minds, toxic masculinity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-04-23 09:49:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14329833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ApprenticeofDoyle/pseuds/ApprenticeofDoyle
Summary: Charlie’s been acting odd lately.





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> sooo here's some more charlie/scientist garbage for my doc and dayman series (bc i needed some more fluff in my life), enjoy some gang shenanigans
> 
> i apologize in advance for my weak sauce attempt to emulate the comedic chops of rcg, humor is hard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie ditches the gang on a scheme, and Mac doesn't react well.

******1:**

_12:30 P.M., on a Saturday, Philadelphia, PA_

 

"Heyooo, bitches, I've got news!"

The gang turns accordingly in their seats at the sound of the front door slamming open. Mac, speckled with snowflakes from the light blizzard kicking up outside, strides in and parks at the bar next to Dennis.

“Us, babes, Flyers game tonight." 

"Aww yeah,” Dennis says appreciatively, swiveling in his seat and leaning back casually across the bar. “Got a plan, my man?”

“Okay okay okay,” Mac’s chilled pink hands dance around as he gathers his thoughts and bearings. “Alright, so, I have an idea about how we can sneak in, but first off I’m gonna need you to help me get some stuff: I need hockey sticks, babes, and a shit ton of dry ice-- Frank, do you know where I can get some of that?”

Frank shrugs. "Yeah, I know a guy.”

Mac pumps a fist in victory. “ _Hell_ yes,” he says, and claps his hands. “Alright, Charlie, Dennis, we gotta get to Dick’s and grab the merch-- and maybe some babes there, if they’re around-- and I’ll tell you the rest of the plan on the road.”

“Don't worry about the babes, my friend,” Dennis purrs. "Where the professional goes, the ladies will follow." He lifts a hand to receive an enthusiastic high-five from Mac.

“What about me? What am I gonna do?” Dee asks, and Mac waves impatiently at her face.

“Nah, nah, nah, we’re good, we don’t need your Dee-ness infecting my perfect five-step plan, alright? C’mon guys, let’s go.”

“Seriously? Nothing? Can I at least help Frank with the dry ice?”

“I could honestly give a shit,” Mac says, rolling his eyes. “Just do whatever, Dee. Come  _on_ guys, we gotta go before this snowstorm bullshit starts jammin’ up traffic!”

“Mmm, Dick's should have some athletic chicks,” Dennis says, getting to his feet, and he bumps Charlie companionably on the arm. “Or at least some hot single moms looking for yoga mats.”

“Hmm?” Charlie says distantly, eyes glued to his phone. His fingers beat out a short but steady rhythm on its cheap buttons, and it’s not until Dennis bumps him again that he rips his gaze away from the screen to look up at them, blinking. “Uh, what’s goin’ on?”

“Dude, were you not paying attention to my news?” Mac asks, offended. “Flyers game? Chicks? Dry ice? C’mon, we’re gotta get to Dick's, time is of the essence on this one.”

“Ohhh,” Charlie says, and makes a regretful hiss. “Uhhh, about that. Sorry, dude, but I’ve actually kinda got something going on tonight already? You guys can go do whatever without me.”

“What?” Mac asks. His expression evolves swiftly from eager to pissed. “You’re not serious, dude, this plan is depends on the three of us _together_ , I need you on this one!”

“Uhh, maybe tomorrow?” Charlie offers distractedly, only just apologetic and relatively unruffled by Mac’s anger. “I’ve got like...plans, or whatever. Like, pretty soonish, actually. But we can do your thing tomorrow, right?”

“ _No,_ Charlie, not tomorrow. The game's tonight!” Mac says, stepping closer to Charlie to get in his face, but Charlie doesn’t seem to notice the escalating annoyance in Mac’s voice. In fact, his gaze has dropped back to his phone, which had chirped a little bird-like sound, and he squints at the screen with concentration.

“ _Charlie,”_ Mac wheedles. “We need our wild card, buddy, you can’t bail on us here.”

“Uh huh, yeah, sure dude,” Charlie mutters under his breath, clearly not listening. "I...have...ah-rivved. Arrived? Oh!" Charlie's lips curl into a bright smile, and his fingers move to mash buttons in reply. Oblivious to how Mac is towering over him, he manages to slide out of his seat without tearing his eyes from his phone, and one hand winding tight the loose scarf around his neck, heads towards the door.

“Hey, so I finished all my work early today, so I’m gonna, like...go?” Charlie finally pockets his phone and flicks finger guns at Mac, who's staring open-mouthed. “Don’t touch the jar I left in the fridge, I’m saving it for a special occasion! Have a good one doing whatever you're doing, bye!”

Charlie waves, a big grin on his face, and the door swings shut behind him with a gust of cold wind and scattered snowflakes. There's a frozen moment of total enraged disbelief, and Mac says, voice slow, "Oh. My fucking.  _God._ "

The rest of the gang turns as one unit to look at him.

"Some-body just got the brush-off," Dee sing-songs, and Mac lifts his hands to slam them so hard on the bar that everyone jumps.

“Son of a _bitch!"_ Mac shouts, fists clenched on the sticky hardwood. "I was gonna wait until after the Flyers game but I just can’t take it anymore, I've gotta talk about this shit.”

“Uh...talk about what?” Dennis asks.

“ _Charlie!”_ A vein throbs warningly in his Mac's left temple. “Are you guys fucking blind? Did you not just see what happened?”

 _“_ Whoa, chill, man! What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about Charlie’s erratic behavior, dude! The texting! The not-participating in my plan! Like he's got something more important than me? Than us going to that hockey game? Than _babes?_ I’m telling you guys, something’s off with him, I know it, and we’ve gotta do something about it.”

“Uh, one thing,” Dennis interrupts, lifting a finger and pointing it to himself. “Why do we care?”

“Are you shitting me?" Mac asks, voice incredulous. "You haven’t noticed? Charlie’s been acting weird as shit for like, weeks now. He texts people. People who _are not us,_ people who _text back_ even though Charlie can’t write for shit! Plus, sometimes he just fucking _disappears_! All the fucking time! Even on weekdays!”

“Ehh, that kinda sounds like totally normal Charlie behavior,” Dee says, with a dismissive swig of her beer. “I mean, the bad room, the sewers, that grimy bus stop bathroom on Vine-- Charlie’s always going off to weird places and doing his gross, weird...Charlie hobbies.”

“No, no, no, no,” Mac argues vehemently. “Listen, man, I’ve been up to the bad room, and that place is tidy as shit, no new broken bottles anywhere, which is possibly related to my argument-- this is _different,_ okay? Like right now, when he just blew us off-”

“You mean blew you off-”

“Blew _us_ off,” Mac insists, voice rising. “But yeah, that shit? He’s been doing that for a while now-- sometimes I just ask him to do stuff like we always do and he says that has _plans._ ”

Dee snorts. “Plans? Like what, inhaling gas vapors from junkyard cars?”

"I think you're overreacting a bit, dude," Dennis says, folding his arms coolly across his chest. "So Charlie bows out on a few cons now and then, what's the big deal?"

"I'm  _not_ overreacting, asshole-"

“I actually might agree with Mac on this one,” Frank cuts in. “Charlie has been going off on his own pretty often, and sometimes he’s real late comin’ home. Not that I mind, y'know, it’s just that the bed feels so...big and empty all by myself...”

“That is...hilariously sad, dude,” Dennis says, before turning to Mac. “But so what if he has plans? He doesn’t blow you off _all_ the time, right?”

“Well- no." Mac puts defensive hands on his hips. “But he does _sometimes._ And that’s not the only thing that’s weird, alright? Listen, I’ve been compiling evidence on this shit for a few weeks now, and...I think I've come up with a solid theory that explains everything.”

“A theory?” Dennis deadpans, as Dee rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, a fucking theory. Gather round, everybody, court is now in session.”

The Reynoldses all groan collectively, but obligingly move to drag their stools to a center table as Mac ducks behind the bar and plucks a poster board and stand from behind it.

“Alright, guys...brace yourselves, because this shit is _big,_ ” Mac says.

“Ugh,  _great,_ another one of these,” Dennis mutters.

Mac plops the board facing out on the easel, and strips off a white cover along the top of the poster concealing a bold red title. “Boom.”

“Oh my god.”

“You’re _shitting_ me, Mac.”

“It is with a heavy heart today that I reveal to you all, the jury, a terrible darkness that has crept into our sacred inner circle,” Mac says gravely. “Our dear friend and janitor has fallen prey to a nefarious plot...and I fear if we don’t act soon, Charlie Kelly will be lost to us forever. I present to the court the following evidence, evidence that I’ve found points to only one possible, gruesome, disturbing, horrifying truth.”

Mac sucks in a breath, pausing dramatically, and meets each member of his audience dead in the eyes.

“Charlie’s been brainwashed.” 

*         *         *

“This is the stupidest crock of shit I’ve ever heard,” Frank says, as Dee and Dennis dissolve into skeptical heckling, and almost immediately, Mac lets out a terrifying crowd-control noise that sends them all into shocked silence.

“ _Thank_ you. Jesus. Now, I present to you,” Mac continues, face red from exertion but voice again completely level, “Gentlemen and Dee of the court, my first piece of evidence.”

Mac rips away a white sheet of paper in the upper right corner of his board and reveals a close-up shot of Charlie’s face, with what looks like a Scrabble tile digitally superimposed on his forehead.

“Clue number one,” Mac says. “Vocabulary.”

*        *        *

_two months ago_

“Dude...what the shit is that?”

Charlie frowns over the lip of his beer. “Huh? What?”

“ _That,_ ” Mac says, stabbing a finger in the game board in front of them. The movement rattles the scattered letter tiles littering its surface, making Charlie give a low whine and move to straighten them out again. “What the hell did you just play, man?”

“A word, dude!” Charlie’s face falls. “I spelled it right, didn’t I? Aww, man, I thought I got this one right. Shit.” Dejectedly, he reaches forward to take back his tiles, and Mac reaches out to slap his hand away. “OW! What the hell?!”

“You didn’t it spell it wrong, dumbass, that’s not the fucking problem! The problem is that you used to be fucking terrible at this game, man, what gives?”

“Dude, _whaaat_?” Charlie protests, eyes big. “But, dude, I'm your intellectual Wonder Twin! We're brain buds! That’s why this game is so fun, because we’re so evenly matched!”

“Goddamnit, _no,_ Charlie. _Actually,_ we play this game because you can’t fucking spell for shit, and I crush you every time! _Normally_ every time I call a challenge, you fold like a house of cards, and because you have to drink every time you fuck up or I check you, you get totally shitfaced and progressively worse. But you’ve only had to drink fucking _twice_ so far, and I’m six beers in because you can suddenly _spell_? Seriously, this is bullshit!”

Charlie looks like a kicked puppy. “You only play this game to crush me? We’re not brain buds?”

Mac is too pissed to fall prey to Charlie’s shiny-eyed pout. “ _Helix,_ dude?” he yells, cheeks rosy red with booze and rage. _“Helix?!”_

“Yeah, you know-” Charlie lifts a finger and draws a curvy wave in the air. “Like, the shape of those really small things in your body that make people? I always liked that little talking dude in _Jurassic Park._ ”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Mac demands. “You used an ‘X’, Charlie! A fucking X, on a double letter score title space! Son of a bitch, how am I supposed to have fun playing this game if you _win?_ I can’t lose to you, the guys will rub in my face for the rest of forever!”

“I’m winning?” Charlie asks, thrilled. He eagerly scoops up the scrap of paper with the scores and stares at it. “Three...seven...Thirty-seven? Thirty seven for... M. For Mac, okay, thirty seven for you and for me...C, Charlie! S...seventy. Seven six. Seventy six! Holy cow!” He clutches the paper to his chest, grinning wide. “I’ve never gotten above the thirties before! Or, uh, made it through this game with so few beer penalties, actually.”

“See what I’m fucking talking about? It’s not fair, Charlie, I’m drunker than you are, so I can’t keep up.”

“Whoa, whoa, wait a second!” Charlie says, smile dropping and voice climbing through several octaves. “How is that unfair?! You misspell some words, I misspell some words, we drink!”

“Because you keep winning challenges because you prove the word is right and then _I_ have to drink!”

“Well, pssh, yeah, them’s the rules, dude,” Charlie replies smoothly, smiling, and it only serves to incense Mac further. “We decided ‘em when we first started this game!”

“We _made_ that stupid rule because I knew I could convince you _any_ goddamn word you came up with was bullshit, and you _used_ to believe me! But not now, nooo, now you can defend shit like ‘ego’ and ‘farce’ and ‘curry’. When the fuck did you learn how to spell curry? Have you ever _eaten_ curry?! How the shit do you know how to spell any of this stuff? Jesus Christ, Charlie, I thought you were illiterate!”

“I’ve been practicing!”

“Practicing? Are you fucking kidding me? What do you mean, practicing?”

“I’ve been practicing with-”

“Shut up, shut up, I don’t care,” Mac shouts, slamming his beer down on the table. The motion makes the tiles jump and fall into disarray, and Charlie whines again at the chaos. “Fuck this shit, man, we had a good thing going here and you just pissed all over it.” He slides off the stool, throwing up his hands. “I’ll just go play Uno with Dee, she’s a fucking train wreck at saving her wild cards, I destroy her every time.”

“Aw, c’mon, man,” Charlie says, visibly hurt. “We don’t have to play this- what about, uh, dominoes or something? We could play those, I think there’s a box of ‘em somewhere in the back office, maybe?”

“I’m not playing fucking dominoes with you, dude, I remember how crazy shit good you are at them, and I told you, I’m not losing to you. The guys will ream my ass for eternity.”

“What’s wrong with me being good at something?” Charlie says, the injury in his voice transforming into indignation. “Me and Doc have been working to make me better at words, and- and spelling I guess, I thought’d it make our games like, more high-stakes and stuff!”

“Well, you and what’s-his-face ruined it,” Mac says, at peak bitchiness, and Charlie lets out a squawk equal in volume and anger.

“Yeah?! Well- well, you’re just _jealous,_ ” Charlie blurts out, jumping off his chair and pointing. “Just- Doc’s helped me a lot with reading and stuff, and _I_ think it’s cool, so you can just go- go fall into an _abyss._ Yeah, a goddamn dark, oppressive, _bottomless abyss!”_

“Fuck you and your big words!” Mac bellows, and Charlie lets out a primal, high-pitched scream of frustration, scattering the tiles on the board across the floor with a flail of his arms.

“Screw you, I’m gonna go hang out with someone who _likes_ that I’m smart,” he yells as he stomps out, and Mac flips two birds at his retreating back and the door that slams shut behind him.

*       *      *


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mac presents his second piece of evidence, and reveals a deeper layer to the Charlie conspiracy.

**2:**

 

“Uh...yikes.”

“Yeah, dude. Sounds like you were kind of a dick to our boy Charlie, there. And how the hell do you not know what helix means? It’s like, DNA, you know, like in _Jurassic Park-_ ”

“Oh my god, Dennis, shut the fuck up about helix, you’re missing the point. My _point_ is that Charlie can beat me at Scrabble.”

“Which we can all agree is fairly pathetic.”

“Mmhmm,” Dee hums.

“Damn shameful, kid,” Frank adds.

“It is an interesting development, though,” Dennis says, defusing the ticking time bomb building on Mac’s face. “Charlie does use big words sometimes, I’ll grant him that, but I am surprised to hear about his spelling. We’ve all witnessed his writing abilities before, the shapes, the non-letters, the occasional backwards ampersand-- and his reading skill is _truly_ atrocious, he misspells his own name literally nine out of ten times.”

“Yeah, well, all that’s changing now, because _apparently,_ Charlie’s been “practicing”.” Mac commits fully to the air quotes, bending two pairs of fingers. “Why? He’s got along perfectly fine living illiterate until now. So I ask the jury...what’s changed? Why now?”

“We’re not really a jury, Mac, and this isn’t a case,” Dee says. “You’re just pissed you lost at Scrabble to an idiot like Charlie.”

“Yeah, man. What you’re feeling right now is called ‘inadequacy’,” Dennis drawls. “I-n-a-”

“Shut up, Dennis, shut up, fuck you, I’m smart!” Mac roars, and Dennis lifts his hands up in defense, yelling in tandem with Dee’s shrieking, and just as Mac is starting to mash his torso to Dennis’s in bizarre, overt masculine challenge Frank cups his hands to his mouth.

“Shut the hell up, bitches, I’ve got something to say!”

Mac backs off of Dennis and the three of them turn as Frank starts to speak. “Listen, guys, the kid might have a point here,” he says. “A sad, envious little point, but a point.”

“You’re kidding me,” Dennis says, unimpressed.

“Mac’s just coming up with excuses to hide his shame!” Dee insists. “There’s nothing in Charlie’s _spelling_ that points to him being brainwashed, that’s ridiculous, Frank!”

“That may be,” Frank reasons, “But I _do_ remember Charlie talking about that Doc character Mac mentioned. The kid won’t shut up about him sometimes; I thought it was a maybe an imaginary-friend-type situation and learned to tune him out.”

“Ha, see!” Mac says, pointing victoriously at Dee and Dennis. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. This Doc person Charlie keeps talking about, he’s connected to all this shit, and I’ve got the evidence to prove it.” Mac reaches into his pocket, and slaps another photo to the board, separate from the original picture of Charlie. It’s a blank black face, surrounded by doodled question marks and what looks like clipart of a stethoscope.

“Frank,” Mac says, voice crisp with assumed authority. “When did Charlie first start mentioning this mysterious Doc character?”

“Ehhh,” Frank hums, cleaning out his ear with a pinkie finger. “Four months ago, maybe? I dunno, like I said, I stopped payin’ attention. The kid’ll gab for hours about nothin’ if you let him, I had to develop my ignorin’ skills to cope.”

“A few months,” Mac mutters, stroking his chin. “Yeah, yeah, that lines up exactly with my timeline...”

“Dude,” Dennis says, shaking his head. “Seriously. You need to get a grip, man.”

“Shut up and open your earholes, Reynolds,” Mac snaps, building up steam again. His hand returns again to the board and whips off another sheet of paper, revealing a second photograph.

“Clue two,” Mac says, turning slowly, hands pressed together to tent under his chin in Holmesian consideration. The gang squints.

Dee hums dubiously. “Uh, is that a bar of soap with Charlie’s face on it?”

“Look, c’mon,” Mac drops his arms tiredly, expression visibly dissolving into distress. “I worked for like,  _days_  on this shit, you know? Just- just let me present my case, alright?”

“Fine, fine.”

“Whatever.”

“ _Thank_ you,” Mac says, sighing. “Anyway. Clue two. _Hygiene."_

* * *

_five weeks ago_

“Charlie...what the hell are you doing?”

“Hnnh?” Charlie’s head bobs up, and gobs of white foam fall from his mouth into the sink below him. “Oh, pheyyy, whaffup?” Mac opens his mouth, lifting his hands palm up in question, and Charlie holds up a finger. He gives a few more steady brushes to the back of his mouth, tips his head forward, and spits noisily into the sink. Then, running the water, scooping some into his hand and swirling some around his mouth, Charlie spits again, rinsing away the last of the toothpaste from his mouth and then finally leaning up.

“What’s up, dude?” Charlie asks him, words clearer this time as he pats his wet hands on his jeans.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you brush your teeth,” Mac says, staring dumbstruck at the red toothbrush in Charlie’s hand. “Like....ever. _Ever._ And I’ve known you...like, twenty years, dude.”

“Yeahhh, I know,” Charlie says. “But like, remember that time you and me tried to fake our deaths to hide from your dad and we used my teeth because they came out so easy?”

“Uh, yeah, dude, kind of hard to forget. They just popped right out, it was disturbing.”

“Yeah, well, Doc says that’s all because I haven’t been brushing my teeth, so like, a few weeks ago I decided to start doing it, you know, because I definitely don’t wanna lose any more, and it turns out? Feels kinda good! All minty and shit, no more weirdness left in my mouth when I wake up in the mornings, and, like, it makes orange juice taste _so_ weird and nobody’s said my breath smells like cheese in days!” Charlie sucks in a loud breath through his teeth and his eyes shine with delight. “It even feels cold, like it’s winter in my mouth! How cool is that?”

“Huh. Good for you, man,” Mac says. “Gotta say, it’s nice to see you follow rules of basic hygiene and all, but why are you doing it here?”

“Aw, cuz the sink in my apartment’s broken. Like, way broken. And full of Frank’s clipped toenails.”

Mac’s nose wrinkles. “That’s...easily one of the grossest things I’ve ever heard, dude.”

“Yeah. I’m gonna ask him to throw ‘em out eventually, I just haven’t gotten around to it yet.” Charlie bends beneath the bar a bit, tucking away his toothbrush and what looks like a squashed tube of toothpaste, and straightens back up. “So what’s goin’ on, buddy?”

“Dennis got infected with Dee’s disgusting bird flu from a while back,” Mac bitches, exasperated, “So we can’t have our Monday monster movie marathon even though we finally got to _Godzilla vs. Mothra_ and I rented the movie already, so I was wondering if you wanted to, dude.”

“Really? Dude, I love Godzilla!” Charlie says, thrilled. “When he uses his mouth laser and fries all those tiny people and smashes buildings, I mean, I really relate to that guy, on like a...lizardy level? I’ve always wanted to, like, be a giant monster and stomp around and maybe wear cars on my feet for roller skates-”

“Uhhh, right,” Mac says. “Anyway, dude, in this one, Godzilla’s the bad guy and like, Mothra’s this giant moth that’s defends Tokyo from him-”

“Godzilla’s the _bad guy?_ ” Charlie asks, offended. “But dude, Godzilla’s awesome! And he would totally kick a moth’s ass! They’re just fuzzy, moldy, lame butterflies!”

“Well, don’t worry dude, Godzilla never dies,” Mac assures, and Charlie nods in fervent agreement.

“Damn straight he doesn’t!” he says, circling around the counter. “So who’s gonna watch the bar when we’re gone watchin’ this thing?”

“Frank’s in the back office, he can do it,” Mac lies, ushering Charlie out with an arm.

“Oh, yeah? Cool, I’ll just say bye to him, then-”

“Nah, nah, he doesn’t have to be disturbed in his very important bookwork, it’s fine,” Mac says quickly. “C’mon, dude, we got monster movies to watch!”

“Uh, okay, alright.” Charlie opens the door for them both to walk through. “But do you mind if we stop by my apartment real quick? I gotta pick up something for later-”

“Sure, yeah, dude, whatever.”

* * *

“So Charlie brushes his teeth now,” Dennis says, propping his chin on an open palm with visible boredom. “And this proves what exactly?”

“I mean, he was disgusting for not doing it before, but it’s like a good thing he’s doing it now, right?” Dee asks. “It _does_ explain the weird streaks of blue that are always in the sink, though, which is kinda gross. Also, Frank? Toenails in the sink? You're a repulsive human being.”

"The trash was full, Deandra, and I didn't feel like takin' it out, and since the sink wasn't workin' anyway, I just decided to use what was available, you know?"

"The sink is as tall as you are! You would have to pick your disgusting toenails off the tile and put them in the sink  _on purpose_ to get them in there, Jesus, you really are going senile-"

“Dude, you guys are missing the point,” Mac whines. “I’ve been bugging Charlie to brush his teeth for goddamn years now, and all of the sudden he just _does?_ Because some Doc guy says it’ll help him keep his teeth?”

“Well, it _is_ sound medical advice,” Dennis hums knowingly. “Gingivitis is _definitely_ on the list of diseases I have Charlie pegged for: I, for one, am glad that he has decided to save us all his morning, afternoon, and evening cheese breath.”

“ _Ughhh,_ ” Mac says. “You know what, fine, but there’s _more,_ okay? And it all connects to this asshole!” Mac stabs a finger at the black stethoscoped profile with a _thwap._

“Then get on with it, idiot, my ass is falling asleep.” Frank shifts in his seat. “And my dry ice guy is only available from two to four, and then he switches to the formaldehyde gig, so let's wrap this shit up.”

“ _Fine._ As I was saying-”

*       *       *

“Dude...what the hell are those?”

“What’s what?” Charlie doesn't look his way, head ducked into his closet.

“Are those fucking flowers, dude?” Mac asks, boggled. He walks over to them to where they sit in a vase, carefully placed on the table near the window. Ducking a head, he takes a big sniff, nose brushing one of the flower’s petals, and makes a soft noise. “Huh. They smell good.”

“Aw, yeah,” Charlie says. “They smell awesome, dude. Doc gave them to me, said they’d make my apartment smell nice, and I like ‘em, cuz, well, they’re pretty and all. The purpley-blue ones are...uh...irises. The tall yellow ones are...jon-kee? Jon quilt? Jonquil? I dunno, dude, I’m bad with names.”

“Uh huh,” Mac says numbly, eyes dropping from the flowers to a small calendar propped up against its clear rectangular vase. _January 2nd,_ it reads, _Word of the day: epiphany (noun), ee-pih-pha-nee. The experience of a sudden and striking realization; often used to describe a scientific, religious, or philosophical breakthrough._

 _Son of a bitch,_ Mac thinks. _This is how he beat me in Scrabble._ Mother _fucker._

Eyes moving from the calendar and the flowers to the rest of the room, Mac can’t help but stare wide-eyed. The apartment looks... _way_ different. The furniture and the books are the same, the walls and the carpet are still stained to shit, but the place is weirdly... _clean._

“Yeah, dude,” Charlie continues, dragging a worn pair of ice skates from the closet and stuffing them into a ratty old gym bag that Mac vaguely remembers from their high school days. “I’m actually really scared I’ll forget to water them and that they’ll die, but I try to keep ‘em in the sun even if it’s snowing outside ‘cuz because Doc says that they’re spring flowers and need to be warm-”

“Dude, shut up about the flowers, what’s with this apartment, dude? Are you moving out or something? And what are you getting ice skates for?”

“Huh?” Charlie slings the gym bag over his grey-jacketed shoulder, the motion making his black wool beanie shift askew on his head, and turns to Mac, finally focused. “I told you, I was grabbing these for something I’m doing later-- but wait a second, what do you mean, am I moving out? What are you talking about, dude?”

“This place is the cleanest I’ve ever fucking seen it,” Mac says. “Don’t get me wrong, but I’m digging it. Your place is usually a fucking hovel, dude, but now it looks good, man.”

“Really?” Charlie asks, brightening. “Thanks, man! I got rid of a lot of, like, trash and stuff because Doc told me that brings rats around and like, I get enough of those at work, and then I put a lot of stuff in this closet because it was mostly full of dirty clothes before but now that I found a place where I can wash some stuff I can actually just...put ‘em away in that drawer there. It’s actually really convenient? The bathroom’s still pretty bad but that’s cuz Frank’s bein’ all weird about me wanting to clean it up, but I think I’m wearing him down, because when I got new sheets to get rid of the bedbugs he really liked _that-_ ”

“Sweet, you got new sheets, dude?” Mac appraises the pull-out couch with newly appreciative eyes and whistles. “Gotta say, man, hygienic Charlie? He’s looking a lot like _bangable_ Charlie.”

Charlie levels Mac a blank look. “Huh?” he asks, puzzled.

“Don’t gimme that, dude, I know what’s going on here,” Mac says gleefully, gesturing broadly about the room. “All this? The toothbrushing, the clean apartment, the clean clothes...the _flowers?"_

“I told you, dude, those are from-”

“You _like_ somebody!” Mac crows, and Charlie’s protest snaps in two.

“Wh- _what?”_ Charlie asks, voice ratcheting up a few pitches.

“You’re cleaning this place up so you can finally bang here!” Mac says, clapping his hands together. “And I gotta say dude, sprucing it up with flowers and the new sheets? Good call. This place was totally non-fuckable-territory for like, years, but now I can actually see you gettin’ a lady up here. It doesn’t smell like piss and when chicks make out with you, your mouth won’t taste like shit."

Charlie’s cheeks blaze pink beneath his newly-trimmed scruff. “That’s not- I didn’t,” he stammers, before pausing and blinking. “W-Wait, my mouth will taste good? To people? Like...during, like, _kissing?_ Cuz I _brush?”_ This is clearly a revelation, and Mac pats Charlie reassuringly on the back as the other man presses curious fingers to his lips in thought.

“You better believe it, dude. Adding a couple pages to the dusty Charlie playbook, I see. Well done, buddy, Dennis will totally approve. You’ve gotta have _some_ chick in mind to get you to pull out the stops like this. How hot is she, to get you to do laundry? Is it the Waitress? Oh, _shit,_ dude, someone else? Are you branching out to other ladies, man?! That’s awesome!”

“I, um,” Charlie attempts weakly. “The Waitress, yeah.”

Mac shakes his head in disappointment. “Aw, dude, I’m telling you, you should consider the other, many, lovely fishes in the Philadelphia sea. All cleaned up, you’re like an adorable little weirdo who only occasionally smells like cat food, a total catch for a classier type of chick-”

“I don’t eat that stuff anymore,” Charlie says, voice thready, and his gaze suddenly goes distant, unfocused. “Doc got me some sleep headphones that like, cancel out all the yowling that happens at night...so I don’t have to eat it to fall asleep anymore...” He blinks disjointedly at Mac. “...Classier? Me and... classier... chicks?”

“Yeah, dude, when you’re clean you go from like, a three to a eight-point-five, on like, a janitor scale of hotness. Eating only human food is just another plus in the bag, dude, I’m telling you. Start wearing deodorant and you just might become premium-ass lay material!”

“I got some the other day, just gotta remember to put it on...I added it to my morning list and stuff,” Charlie mumbles, eyes now fully glossed over. His hand has moved to his lips again, touching them thoughtfully, and Mac waves his hand in front of Charlie’s face.

“Hm? Huh?”

Mac smirks. “Earth to Charlie, dude. Stop daydreaming about chicks. I'm proud of you and shit, but we've got monster movies to watch.”

“Chicks,” Charlie echoes. “Classy. Yeah. Monster movies.” Charlie’s hands move to the gym bag slung around his shoulder, tightening around its strap.

“Seriously, dude, _focus,”_ Mac says, placing hands on Charlie’s shoulders. “You can fantasize about all the fine tail you’re gonna get later. Godzilla is calling us, dude.”

Charlie shakes his head quickly, like a dog shaking water from his ears. “Uh, yeah, sure, let’s go, man,” he says, voice a little croaky before he clears it. His hand goes up to straighten his beanie, preparing his ears for the January wind. “I wanna see a cool dragon lizard stomp a big ass moth.”

“That’s the spirit, buddy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao so, i'm definitely writing a fic for the aforementioned date with Doc that Charlie needed ice skates for <3
> 
> hope the word of the day wasn't too on the nose for Charlie's experience
> 
> so, apparently in flower language, irises can say 'your friendship means so much to me’ and jonquil can mean 'affection, or desire for affection returned'. newsflash, doc's an secret sap.


	3. III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The evidence is starting to pile up, and the gang is finding the truth harder and harder to deny.

**3.**

 

“Flowers,” Dee says. “You’re pissed about flowers. I wish someone would give _me_ flowers!”

“They’re nice as shit,” Frank confirms. “One of the yellow ones started to wilt a bit and Charile just about shit a fuckin’ brick. He bought this plant food and I once caught him playing calmin’ music on that keyboard of his because he thought they would _like_ it.”

“Awww,” Dee coos.

“Shut up, Dee, it’s not cute!” Mac protests. “It’s weird and girly as shit! Sure, they’re pretty and they smell nice and the colors are actually pleasant and they brighten up the space-” The gang starts to stare at him, and Mac quickly backtracks, “but, listen, I don’t think they had shit to do with chicks at all! I don’t think any of it does!”

“Let me guess,” Dennis says. “You’re thinking that because Charlie’s decided to learn some words and be a generally clean human being, he’s being brainwashed...by the mysterious Doc guy.”

“Dude, _exactly!”_ Mac says, bursting with pride. “You get it, it’s like you’re in my head, that’s exactly what I’m saying. Charlie said _Doc_ gave him the flowers. He said _Doc_ told him to clean up. He said _Doc_ has been helping him practice his words and shit. See the connection?!”

“Hmm, is that so?” Dennis asks. He folds his hands delicately together on the table, inclining his head. “Interesting hypothesis, my dear Mac, but I believe I have... a counter theory.”

“Dude, are you serious? Lay it on me, man.”

“I believe...” Dennis begins, with appropriate gravitas. “That Charlie’s Doc? Is actually a _woman.”_

“Oooh _,_ ” Dee says, and Frank makes a rumbling noise of similar intrigue.

Mac’s enthusiasm visibly drops and he opens his mouth, but Dennis cuts him off. “Listen, dude, hear me out,” he says. “And it’ll all make sense. I propose to the jury that Doc is actually a _female_ doctor- or nurse, or possibly a sexy psychology undergrad-- and that, in order to understand our Charlie’s fascinating, disturbed, fractured psyche, she has insinuated herself in Charlie’s life to _study_ him.”

" _Oooh._ Go on, I’m into this _,_ ” Dee says.

Dennis smirks, empowered by their interest, and smoothly tips his chin. “I mean, it adds up, doesn’t it? Think about it. She wants to see if she can fix poor, weird, dirty Charlie, make him a functional member of society for research or whatever. And then possibly bang him at the end, because she’s probably hot and attracted to the danger of it all, sleeping with her subject, knowing it's against the rules, because she couldn’t help but fall in love with the perfect man she has slowly created...”

Dennis’s eyes go half-lidded, and his voice goes hushed. “But soon she’ll realize what she’s created is not a man, but a fantasy," he murmurs, "and she’ll abandon him, unsatisfied, hoping for something real with someone better suited for her...Perhaps someone just outside her periphery, an intelligent man, someone with the same psychological insight and genius, someone _raw_ and certainly, classically handsome...”

“Uhhh,” Dee interrupts, annoyed. “Are you sweating? For the love of God, please don’t be aroused, I’m sitting _right_ next to you, Dennis!”

“Seriously, dude, if you’re gonna fantasize in public, do it in the fucking bathroom, okay?” Mac rolls his eyes. “I’m so embarrassed for you right now.”

Dennis sucks in a shaky breath and clears his throat. “Eh-hm. Excuse me. Got a little carried away for a second there.”

“You think?” Frank drawls. “You must have got that exhibitionist streak from your mother."

" _Ew,_ Frank!"

“A) Gross, and B), Like, totally fucking wrong,” Mac says. “Charlie’s Doc, disappointingly, is _not_ a smokin’ hot lady doctor, and I have photographic evidence to prove it. But first, I present to you my third point of evidence.” Reaching for his back pocket, Mac tugs something out, and tosses it crisply onto the table in front of the gang, where it skids to a halt near the center.

“Dude, is that Charlie’s wallet?” Dennis asks, frowning at its fraying Transformer decal. “What the hell are you doing with that? It’s not like he has any _money_ in there.”

“Actually, I found five dollars and a collectible Jeff Parrett baseball card that I think might be worth a shit ton of money,” Mac says, before waving his hands in the air. “But never mind that shit, I found more than just that inside, okay, and this one, you guys,” Mac starts to laugh, a bit hysterically. “This one’s gonna knock your fucking dicks off.”

He tosses something from between his fingers onto the table before them, where Dennis claps a hand down on it. It’s a card. Dennis picks it up in his fingers, turns it over.

“What the hell is- oh. Oh my god.” Dennis’s voice hollows out, and immediately, Dee and Frank start yelling.

“What, what the fuck is it, give it here,” Dee screeches, snatching it from Dennis’s numb hands, and she makes a strangled noise in the back of her throat.

“Oh god. What the- what the hell...Is this _real?”_

“Give it, Deandra, Jesus Christ-” Frank rips it from in between her fingernails, and his eyes go like pool balls behind his thick glasses. “What the shit is this?”

“Clue number three, part a,” Mac says. “A library card.”

There’s a stolen, delirious beat of silence before Dennis finds his voice first.

“Well- okay- damn it, Mac, this is weird but it doesn’t prove anything.”

“Dennis, do _you_ have a library card?”

“Well, I- No, everyone knows library cards are for nerds, but-”

“Would you classify Charlie as a _nerd?_ ” Mac asks.

Dennis blinks rapidly. “...Well,  _no,_ I mean, he’s a moron and a garbage dweller and certainly a complete and total loser _,_ and he’s not quite academic enough to be branded a nerd, _but_ -”

“But he has a library card,” Mac says. He places his hands flat down on the table in front of Dennis, leaning in uncomfortably close. “Which you admit is for nerds, and which you admit Charlie is not. You concede, then, that Charlie’s behavior could be considered... out of character?”

Dennis huffs out a sigh, folding. “Yes, okay, I’ll admit that.”

“So what say you then,” Mac presses, eyes glittering with victory. “If I were to show you proof connecting the mysterious Doc to the library as well?”

“That- that would make sense!” Dennis says quickly. “There’s books at the library! Books and- and reading! Charlie’s learning to read, right?”

“And what if I said,” Mac continues, “I also saw Charlie at...”

Mac pushes something onto the table, spirited from the seemingly endless depths of his pockets. Dennis, Dee, and Frank stare as Mac slides it across the hardwood, and flips it over.

“Clue three, part b,” Mac says. “A ticket for the Philadelphia Museum of Art, also found within the wallet of one Charles T. Kelly.”

“Charlie went to an _art_ museum?” Dee asks, a shocked laugh falling out of her mouth.

“Sure, the kid likes to paint, but why the shit would he go stare at the fever dreams of some dead old hippies?” Frank shakes his head, noisily swallowing a good amount of beer.

“I _saw_ him, man,” Mac argues. “I _saw_ Charlie at the fuckin’ museum, I have _proof_ he was there...and I have proof he wasn’t alone.”

“Dude...have you been _stalking_ Charlie?” Dennis asks, eyebrows lifting.

Mac’s cheeks burn red. “I was _looking out_ for him, Dennis,” he snaps. “I assessed and identified a possible threat, and acting accordingly, moved to investigate and if necessary, eliminate, alright? And I was goddamn right to do it, man! You should be fucking thanking me!”

“Oh, uh huh, you’re a real hero, Mac,” Dee says, smirking. “He ditched you one day and you decided to follow him to fuck up his plans, didn’t you?”

“Shut up, Dee.”

“Knew it.”

“Look, Mac, just show us your fucking ‘proof’, man, we’re getting off-topic, and right now, I’m unconvinced, bored, and considering just leaving for the Flyers game without you losers.”

“Jesus, fine, here,” Mac says, turning on a heel and tacking a picture on the board. “Here’s fucking clue three, part c.”

It’s a fuzzy picture of Charlie standing before the tall familiar steps of the Philadelphia Museum of Art, standing close to a man whose face is obscured by a fairly gorgeous young passerby with a big blonde ponytail. Charlie is mid-motion, gesticulating excitedly with his hands, and the man he stands beside is facing him directly, hands tucked into the pockets of a practical pair of slacks.

“I can’t believe you followed Charlie to the fucking museum and took pictures of him. This is just sad, Mac,” Dee says.

“I didn’t tail them _inside,_ ” Mac defends. “Those tickets cost money, dude. Charlie’s my bro, but I’m not made of money, alright? I waited for a while to come out, but I think I missed it, because I maybe might have gotten distracted trying to bang that blonde in the picture, because I mean, Dennis, buddy, you see her?”

“Yep,” Dennis says, nodding appreciatively. “Nice. Young, preppy. College student? Did you score?”

Mac scowls. “Nah. I started hitting on her and she like, analyzed me or some shit, started talking about how I was repressed or something like that, to be honest I kinda zoned out on her when she started goin’ on about misplaced aggression and misogyny or whatever the shit.”

“Definitely a college student,” Dennis surmises. “Oh, Mac, you have much to learn about the finer intellectual female-”

“Shut up, Dennis, I wanna hear about this Doc guy!” Frank barks. “Mac, this picture is a piece of shit. Do you have any that actually show the guy’s mug?”

Mac cards an awkward hand through his hair. “Well, I told you, I tried to hit on that blonde chick, and she was like, on the move, so I...”

“Oh my God,” Dee says, rolling her eyes. “So much for a detective. One pretty co-ed and you go off the rails immediately, god, are all guys incapable of thinking without their dick getting in the way?”

“I’ll have you know a shit ton of detectives solve crime with their dicks, Dee,” Mac says. “Leslie Nielsen in every movie, the guys from _21 Jump Street_ , literally any 70s detective-”

“The A-Team,” Dennis offers. “MacGyver, in a classy way.”

“Oh my god, I don’t care,” Dee groans. “Mac, I still don’t get what all the bitching’s about, okay? Charlie is allowed to hang out with other people besides us, you know, he’s his own person."

“Damn it, Dee, can’t you fucking read?” Mac gestures to the title of his board. “I don’t think he _is_ his own person anymore!”

“Well, do you have photographic evidence of _that?_ ” Dennis asks. “Because all this stuff is different for Charlie, but none of it is like, mindfuck crazy.”

“You want proof of Charlie doing something he’d never, ever do?” Mac's voice falls low, anticipating. “Fine. I’ve _got_ your goddamn proof.”

Dennis and Dee lift mirrored sets of eyebrows, and Frank makes an impatient _carry on_ gesture.

“This following piece of evidence dates January of this year, Friday the 10th, as you can see dated in the corner of the footage-”

“Footage?” Dee repeats. “Like...what? Security cam footage? How the hell did you get access to security cam footage?”

“Don’t ask stupid questions, Dee,” Mac says. “But seriously guys...I think- I think you might wanna brace yourselves for this one. The first time I saw it- I...I nearly...” Mac’s voice breaks, and Dennis drums his Adidas frantically into the bar floor.

“Goddamn it, Mac, just fucking show us,” he demands.

“Okay. Okay.” He slowly withdraws another photo from his t-shirt pocket, and with greater care than before, he gently pastes it onto the poster board and steps back.

The image is monochrome and grainy, but the subject is unmistakable. He’s sitting with his side mostly turned towards the camera, facing someone at the table with him who’s obscured by a tall column blocking the frame, but with that jacket, it’s definitely Charlie. There’s a cup in his hands, something with a straw that Charlie is sticking into his smile-wide mouth, but it’s not the smoothie that they all stare at. It’s the decor of the cafe they’re sitting in, its menagerie of prints and patterns, and the logo on the cup Charlie is holding in his hand.

“Is he...is that where I think it is?” Dee whispers, horrorstruck.

“Goddamn right it is,” Mac says, voice tremulous.

“It’s...”

“Yeah...I know.” Mac rubs a hand over his mouth, shaking his head.

“ _Bullshit,"_  Frank snarls suddenly, frothing beer at the mouth. “Bullshit, fucking _bullshit,_ that picture’s a fucking _fake._ Charlie would fucking never-”

“Impossible,” Dennis says, shaking his head in his disbelief. He gets to his feet, approaching the board and sticking his face in the image. Squints. Sniffs it. “Ink smells right,” he murmurs, stunned. “Guys. Guys....I think this is the real deal.”

“It’s a fucking lie,” Frank croaks out, swaying in his seat like he’s going to fall right out of it.

“Clue four,” Mac says. His voice cracks, like cement in the sun. “The Philadelphia Aquarium.”

*        *        *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thx so much for all the great comments, guys! Sorry if the story seems a little slow, but I want to build a bit before the gang legitimately loses their shit. 
> 
> Hope my characterization of the gang aren't totally OOC or delirious, but in the show, they're all so flexibly manic? Idek lmao


	4. IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mysterious Doc's identity is finally revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yo, thanks so much for reading you guys!!

**4:**

Dennis moves from the board back to his seat, sitting down with his eyes locked on the footage still. He opens his mouth once, tries to speak, but his voice falters. Shaking his head, he clears it before trying again.

“I...can’t,” he says, voice quiet, numb. “I can’t think of anything. I can’t...come up with any reason why Charlie would go there.”

“You know what he went through back in the day, man,” Mac prompts. “He wasn’t the same for weeks after.”

“As though we could forget,” Dennis says hollowly. “Sixth grade. May twenty-seventh, 1988. The squid incident. I had actual nightmares about that day for week after. All those... _suckers._ ”

The gang collectively shudders.

“You don’t think he still blames us, do you?” Dee asks hesitantly. “Because that... _so_ wasn’t our fault.”

“Oh yeah, no, definitely,” Dennis says, as Mac readily shakes his head. “I mean, _he_ was the one who’d wanted to climb into the vents, not us-”

“The fallout of the dare is the fault of the daree, not the darer, keep it straight, Dee,” Mac lectures. “And how were we to know what would have happened, certainly not _us,_ I mean, we’re not _psychic,_ right?” Dennis and Dee nod and laugh in agreement with Mac.

“Besides, it was a triple black dog dare,” Dennis reminds. “That was big shit back in the day. Refusal could lead to like...total social rejection, man. You didn’t mess around with no triple black dog dare.”

“Exactly, exactly,” Mac says, “I mean, he would have been named the biggest pussy in school, not that he like, wasn’t already the _grossest_ kid in school...”

“Charlie...He, uh, told me a bit about that day...a while back.” Frank is a little pale, voice uncharacteristically sober. “Woke up one night screamin’ about tentacles. Wish I’d never asked.” Mac, Dennis and Dee wince in unison.

“Guys, remember what happened when the school tried to take us again sophomore year?” Dee asks. “He ran off with the permission slip and didn’t come back to class, like, all day, because he went to go throw up in the bathroom for four hours. When then when he got in trouble for skipping, he puked on Principal Yackerman's desk.”

“It took him ages to look at fish the same way ever again,” Mac says, shaking his head sadly. “Even longer to even consider going swimming at the pool or like...bathing.”

Dennis and Dee wrinkle their noses together. “Yeah.”

Mac, bowing his head, moves to amble back towards the bar. The rest of the gang watches him with solemn eyes as he withdraws a small black binder, and returning to the table, places it in front of them. Sighing heavily and looking up once to meet Mac reluctantly in the eyes, Dennis moves to open it, flipping through a couple more photos of footage.

All of them are shots from the aquarium. One of Charlie and the faceless man with their backs to the camera, looking at a massive tank full of clown fish and corals. Another, with Charlie and the same man (face hidden in the dark corner’s lighting) stooping over a small, wet corral full of baby turtles. More, with Charlie goggling at stingrays, eels, sharks, palms usually pressed up to the glass, eyes wide with wonder. And always accompanied by, in the background or right beside him-- his face hidden by pillars, shadows, angles, and the ponytails of hot women-- by a mysterious figure.

“Aw,” Dee says. “He doesn’t look like he’s gonna puke in any of these.”

“I was at least hoping for some vomit action,” Frank adds, looking disappointed.

Small blessings, there are no photos of Charlie in the squid exhibit. That would have been too much to take.

“Do you see what I see, dudes? The common denominator in all these photos?”

Mac’s voice is loud again, loud enough to dispel the strange, reverent silence that had befallen them. The gang looks up to watch as he moves to his board, and plucking a red marker from his pocket, circles the shoes of the man hidden behind the column on the first piece of footage pinned to the board.

“ _Old man shoes,_ ” Mac says meaningfully. “Tell me, class, where have we seen these before?”

“Ooh! Ooh!” Dee gasps, pointing frantically. “In the pictures from the museum!”

“Gold star, Deandra.” Mac turns to the photo of Charlie and the again-obscured figure beside him on the library steps, and circles the unknown man’s sensibly-clad feet.

“The Doc,” Mac says. His voice is low, dramatic. There’s the faintest thread of something quivering in it, something that could only be called fear. “He’s everywhere, guys. _Everywhere._ ”

Dennis rakes desperate fingers through his hair, leaving it mussed and wild. “Okay.” He sucks in a breath, rapidly blinking wide eyes. “Okay, okay. This- this is all starting to sound kinda convincing, I don’t know about you guys, but are you convinced, a little?” Dee and Frank bob their heads and Mac fist-pumps, teeth gritted.

“Fucking _finally,”_ he issues through a clenched jaw. His seriousness evaporates in his voice to be replaced with total, rage-tinted victory. “You get it? You fucking get it now? Charlie’s been fucking brainwashed by this fucking Doc guy, he’s cleaning out his freakin brains with a vacuum and- and- probably making him watch nature documentaries and making him _healthier_ and and clean and- and he won't even film Project Badass with me anymore! Goddamn it, those geeks are gonna pay for taking my best friend away from me, man!”

“Okay, okay, just- everybody calm down.” Dennis lifts unsteady hands. “So far, what have we got? We’ve got Charlie eating well. We’ve got him kicking Mac’s ass at Scrabble. There’s the library card, and the museum, and we’ve got him brushing his teeth and bathing himself and just generally following basic hygiene. And, uh, overcoming his deepest fears and stuff, with the aquarium thing. Alright, okay. Just, objectively, it looks like Charlie is...taking care of himself? I dunno, it’s crazy, but maybe just because we see Charlie as our gross innocent dirtball, you know? Lover of slime and noxious fumes, killer of rats, boy who eats cat food. Maybe it’s just a lot to see him change simply _because_ we’ve seen him at his lowest. Which is, considerably, pretty damn low.”

“I wish I could agree with you, my friend,” Mac says somberly, shaking his head. “But there’s one more piece of evidence left...the last piece of the puzzle that finally convinced me. And it’s by far the most...damning.”

“Ohhhh shit,” Dee breathes. “Oh shit, what is it?”

“Let us have it, Mac,” Dennis says, swallowing hard. “We can take it. We’re strong.”

“Buckle up, bitches,” Mac whispers. “For the final clue. And, last but not least...the true identity of the mysterious man known as Doc.”

The bar gets very loud again.

“Dude, you _know_ who he is?” Dennis finally demands when the yelling dies down, voice shrieky. “You’ve _known_ this whole _time?!_ ”

“You of all people should know and appreciate the climactic reveal, Dennis Reynolds!” Mac shouts back, crossing his arms. “Do you wanna know or not?!”

Dennis groans loudly, but bows his head to concede the point. “Damn it. Just...just fucking tell us already. The suspense is killing us.”

Mac nods soberly, and tugs the last piece of paper from the board with a strange kind of gentleness.

“The last, and final piece of evidence in the case of Charles Kelly,” he says. “The Waitress.”

* * *

_two weeks earlier_

It’s the last straw. First Scrabble, then mouthwash, and now this? Skipping out on Project Badass day? He can’t take this shit anymore. He thought it couldn’t get any weirder after the museum, but he was wrong, and something’s gotta be done. It can’t be put off any longer.

He has some recon to do.

“Operation: Flaming Eagle is now go,” Mac mutters into his voice recorder. “Voice log one, 09:00 hours. Agent Mac Bauer reporting in, in position and ready to mobilize. Location is locked at my one o’clock, and conditions are clear. No sign yet of the target.” Mac pauses the recording to meddle with the rearview mirror in Dee’s car, internally cursing her freakish height. “Goddamn it, Charlie,” he says, squinting through his new aviators across the street. “Where the hell are you?”

It’s nine o’clock, he should be here already. Charlie’s _never_ late, not here, not on Sunday morning. The Waitress’s shift started an hour ago, and Charlie has made it a point every week for the last five or six years to show up and get coffee here at the “Common Grounds” since the chick got the job. Charlie has a reliable, regimented system for creeping on the Waitress, unimpeachable by injury, inclement weather, or restraining order. Mac knows he’s gonna be here.

Mac hopes he’s gonna be here. Because if Charlie doesn’t show up, it’ll be the last shred of the proof he needs that Charlie’s been full brain-fucked. You can give the man big words, take the guy’s grime, but the one thing about Charlie Kelly you can’t take away is his lifelong obsession with one blonde, bitchy waitress. She’s the last variable in Mac’s theory, the last box to be checked off before he can confirm his hypothesis and show the guys.

He drums his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel. “C’mon, Charlie," he mutters, "Where the hell- oh shit!” Mac fumbles for the recorder and the totally sweet binoculars he ordered a few weeks back, and peers across the street at the tell-tale flash of Charlie’s military green jacket in the morning sun.

“Target is in sight,” he hisses into the voice recorder. “Approaching from behind, heading towards the drop zone from the east.” His eyes widen in amazement behind the scope of his binoculars. “Holy shit, code green. The target is not alone, repeat, there are _multiple_ Charlies- well, there’s one Charlie, but he’s not alone. Target is with a suspicious character, we are in defcon two.”

Mac watches the backs of Charlie and the man accompanying him as they walk towards the coffee shop and go inside. Swearing under his breath, Mac jams the key in ignition. “Target has moved out of sight, Agent will close in and attempt to re-establish eyes on the target.” Jerking into drive, he crawls up the side of the street in Dee’s shitty used Fiat until he reaches the edge of the intersection, and parks directly across the coffee shop itself. He whips his binoculars back up and peers inside, looking frantically for Charlie and finding him almost immediately.

“Target reacquired,” Mac affirms in a hushed voice. “Subject is sitting at a table towards the door facing the unknown stranger. Agent has strong suspicions said stranger is Dorky Shoes McLameAss, also known as “Doc”. McLameAss confirmed wearing dumbass nerd shoes and slack pants. McLameAss sad, creepy dweeb with no fashion sense, noted for the record. Fuck, _fuck_! Target is on the move.”

Mac watches as Charlie gets to his feet, bending to say something to McLameAss before heading over the counter. “Target is approaching register. Subject known as Waitress is attending. Target appears normal levels of sweaty and nervous, but seems to be going for it. Subject: Waitress looks annoyed, as per fucking usual.”

Through the window, Mac watches Charlie wave hello with a goofy grin at Waitress, and lift two fingers. He mouths some words, presumably ordering coffee for himself and McLameAss. Waitress says something back, frowning deeply with irritation, before something like surprise crosses her face. Charlie shifts awkwardly, still smiling, before pointing back at McLameAss, and then, after paying and without even being shooed, leaves the counter.

“Target has placed the order for coffee and is returning to his seat with McLameAss. Threat level remains minimal. Target appears to have consistent obsession with Subject: Waitress, thank God. Purpose for McLameAss's presence is currently unclear, though. Agent will standby.”

Mac waits for a few minutes, brows furrowed over his binocular sight. Soon, Charlie’s head bobs up at something, jerking away from a conversation with Dorky Shoes, and he gets to his feet. Mac watches as Charlie goes for two cups set out on the counter, picks them up, nods at the Waitress, and...walks away. _Wait, what the hell?_

“Target is not attempting further contact with Subject: Waitress. Target has received coffee and has returned to sit with McLameAss. Note, dudes, Subject: Waitress looks uncertain, and Agent Mac Bauer is totally weirded out.”

Mac watches, and waits for something to happen. For Charlie to get up and try to talk to the Waitress again, for Charlie to embarrass himself. For Charlie to even _stare_ at the Waitress for a while, babble like an idiot, and confirm his fanatic love for her. Mac waits for twenty minutes, watching Charlie talk and talk-- hands going everywhere-- to McLameAss, and...it never happens. Charlie and McLameAss just drink their coffee, talking, and even occasionally laughing, and Mac wants to _punch something._ Charlie cancelled their morning Project Badass for _this?_ For coffee at the Waitress’s place, and he isn’t going to try to talk to the Waitress?

“What is this shit?” Mac demands of his voice recorder. “Target is a fucking dick who ditches friends for shitty coffee with lame assholes. Target can suck my dick and make his own sick extreme stunt home videos- oh, shit, dude, target is on the move. Target is rising with Dorky Shoes McLameAss.” Charlie takes the empty cup from McLameAss, trashes it, and lifts a hand to the Waitress in a wave. The Waitress stares at him, expression incomprehensible, before inexplicably opening her mouth.

“Whoa, shit, Subject: Waitress is addressing target directly, code weird,” Mac says excitedly. “Waitress is leaving the counter and approaching the target. Target looks confused as fuck. McLameAss reaction is unknown.”

The Waitress is turned to Charlie, arms crossed. He’s talking to her, and slowly, withdrawing something from his coat. Extending a hand, Waitress looks at it with considering hesitance before grabbing it with two fingers like a dirty sponge. Mac watches, riveted, as Charlie then backs up, turns to McLameAss, and receives a pat on the back from the man. A slow, lingering pat. A pat that might say _good job._ Or, even, one might say, in an _excellent, my mindless minion_ sort of way _,_ and Mac’s grasp spasms over the voice recorder.

“ _Holy shit,_ dudes, target has executed a drop, initiated what looks like grooming contact with McLameAss, and is withdrawing from Subject: Waitress, repeat, _target is withdrawing from Subject: Waitress,_ goddamn it, I knew it! I fucking knew it, Charlie’s being conditioned, I’m a fucking genius!”

So ecstatic with his victory, Mac almost loses track of Charlie as he and McLameAss leave the shop. They move towards the door, Charlie waving and turning to prop the door open first so McLameAss can walk through, and- and... _ho-ly shit._

Standing, finally facing Mac’s direction, face in the sun as he turns back to smile at Charlie, the mysterious man known as Doc is finally, fully visible.

And Mac... has seen that face before.

He slowly lowers the binoculars, heart pounding.

“Science Bitch,” he whispers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love melodramatic mac.
> 
> btw, the journal is one of charlie's weird logs for waitress. mac doesn't know it, but doc's encouraged charlie to-- if not stop hanging out in the Waitress's workplace completely-- stop haunting her off-shift. good for doc, lmao.
> 
> next chap: the confrontation


	5. V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang finally catches up with Charlie and Doc.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the wait dudes, finals are kicking my ass right now and this chapter got wayyy too long
> 
> thanks so much for all your lovely comments, i'm so glad people like this! writing this fic really brightens my mood and takes the stress off because it's so light and fun, and i'm happy you guys like how it's going :)

**5:**

_“Science Bitch.”_

“That Brit bastard who tried to make Charlie smarter with those damn sugar pills?” Frank yells, already on his feet.

Dennis’s eyes go wider than dollar coins. “My god,” he breathes. “The shoes. The tasteful sweaters. The nerdy locales. That’s...that’s actually plausible. Mac- Mac, buddy, if this is true-”

“Charlie’s being rewritten into a smarter, cleaner, healthier person!” Dee blurts out, before frowning. “...But, wait, why is this a bad thing, again? Is there a reason we shouldn’t let this, y’know, keep happening?” Dennis raises his eyebrows at this point, the horror on his face rippling briefly into thought before Mac interrupts.

“Because then he won’t be our Charlie anymore, Dee! He won’t be our buddy!” When Dee and Dennis look unimpressed, Mac crosses his arms and continues, “He won’t be the same old sweet, funny, _pushover_ filth-goblin we care about? Charlie might get so smart or so clean that he won’t wanna do Charlie work anymore, and then we’ll have to do that shit!”

“We have to stop this,” Dennis says immediately, and Dee nods furiously in agreement. “I’ll be damned if we lose our beloved Charlie to the foul workings of that sinister, soulless Science Bitch. We gotta find him and tell him exactly who Charlie belongs to, and if he won’t let the experiment go, we’ll just have to convince him.”

“Damn straight! I’ll get that nerd right between the eyes!” Frank cries, pulling out his pistol, and for the third time that night, the bar gets very loud.

“ _Jesus_ , Frank,” Dennis manages, after a prolonged period of shouting, ducking, and Frank swinging the gun around howling wordlessly. “Put that shit away, we’ve gotta find the Doc first. Let me talk to him, I’ll tell him what a wasted effort it is trying to change Charlie.”

“Is it a wasted effort, though? Look how different Charlie is,” Dee says, pointing to Mac’s board of evidence.

“Look, it doesn’t matter how, we’re getting Charlie back,” Mac orders. “If he was texting who I thought he was, then that means he’s with that sciency son of a bitch right now. I say we go get him.”

“But what if Charlie’s been conditioned for loyalty?” Dee whispers urgently. “Like- like Stockholm Syndrome or something?”

“Then we take him back by force, and teach him how to be disgusting again if that’s what it takes,” Mac fires back, clenching a fist in the air. “I’m not losing my best friend without a fight.”

“Okay, okay, if we’re actually planning on a rescue, we’ve gotta find out where the hell they are,” Dennis says.

“UPenn,” Mac says, snapping his fingers. “They’ll have Science Bitch’s address in their records, right?”

“Uhh, there’s no way in hell we’ll be able to get the private files of UPenn’s professors.”

“Never say never, Dee,” Mac says, voice steely. “I’m going over to UPenn and I’m getting that address, and I don’t care what it takes. Are you bitches in or not?”

Frank cocks his gun. “I’m locked and fuckin’ loaded,” he hisses.

“Great, but Jesus H. Christ, put that _away_. We’re not bringing that into the college, Frank, don’t even fucking try it.” Mac looks up at Dennis and Dee. “Well? Chickens?” When the siblings pause, looking reluctant, Mac puts his hands on his hips and says, “If we don’t get Charlie back and he quits Paddy’s, you assholes are doing his job.”

“Let’s go get Charlie back!” Dennis yells, and Dee lets out a war cry.

“ _Hell_ yeah,” Mac says, baring his teeth.

* * *

“I can’t see shit in this fucking snow,” Dennis bitches from the driver’s seat. “Where the hell is admissions again?”

“Dude, weren’t you the one who went to school here?” Mac peers through the thick flurry of white swirling outside his passenger window. “Besides, the guy’s a psychology professor or whatever, right? Where’s that department?”

“Shit, right, I think that’s on Locust Walk? Oh, shit, here!” Dennis pulls into a parking lot, swinging into an empty space. He shifts into park and the gang leans forward together, squinting up through the snowfall at the sizeable psychology department building.

“So we go in, and what? Do we actually have a plan?” Dennis asks.

“What happened to being go-with-the-flow, dude?”

“It went away when you subtracted the Flyers game and the babes and added Charlie, crazy scientists, and Frank’s revolver.”

“He’s not- _damn it_ , Frank, you’re not bringing that gun inside, what did I tell you?! Put it away, dude!”

“I thought we were getting that address no matter what?” Frank asks rebelliously, voice brimming with bloodlust, and Mac immediately starts yelling at him. Soon they’re all shouting again, until suddenly Dee’s slapping her freakishly large hands at Mac’s shoulders.

“Guys, looklooklook! Over there! It’s Charlie!”

“ _Ho-_ ly shit,” Mac gasps, and lunges for the door. “We’re coming, buddy!”

“Hold it!” Dennis’s hand slams across Mac’s chest, pinning him back. “Look, dude. He’s not alone.”

Tromping through the snow building at his feet, Charlie-- recognizable in his dark jacket and red scarf-- walks down the steps of the psychology building, carrying a cardboard box in his hands. Besides him walks Science Bitch, buttoned up in a sleek grey coat, and they’re both heading towards a small grey car parked nearby.

“What are we doing?” Dee whispers. “They’re right there! We should grab Charlie, punch Science Bitch in the dick, and run!”

“We should find out where they’re going,” Dennis hisses back. “Besides, it’s too late to grab Charlie, look.”

Science Bitch opens the trunk door of his car, into which Charlie quickly slides the mysterious box, and the two circle around and climb into the front seats. Within moments, the car’s starting up and pulling out, and slowly, Dennis shifts into drive.

“Let’s follow them,” Dennis says, a cool smile curling across his face, and he and Mac quickly exchange a bro-fist.

“Hot pursuit." Mac grins wide. “ _Awesome._ We’re comin’, Charlie, buddy.”

* * *

They trail Doc and Charlie’s car through the city for fifteen minutes or so until they reach the driveway of a tall apartment building. The sight of its sharp brick and modern awning makes Dee whistle and Frank mutter under his breath something about rich a-holes, but Mac’s too busy slapping Dennis on the arm telling him to slow down to notice himself. Dennis parks as close as he can without looking too obvious, and the gang watches with bated breath as Charlie and Doc exit their car, moving quickly to the trunk to grab the box and then the apartment in the increasingly heavy snowfall.

“Shit, let’s roll before we lose ‘em in the lobby,” Mac says, and soon they’re all scrambling out of the car and rushing up to the apartment entrance, skidding around in the snow.

“Goddammit, it’s cold,” Dee whines, her Converse sinking into flurries built up around her ankles, and she’s quickly shushed as they enter the sliding lobby doors. The lobby’s pretty nice, clean-- a little too grey for Mac’s taste-- and they just manage to catch a sight of Charlie and Doc slip into an elevator.

“Watch what floor they stop at,” Dennis says, and Mac nods eagerly.

“Good idea, dude. But how will we know which room-”

“Excuse me, can I help you?”

The gang turn as one from where they’re clumped near the lobby entrance to face the receptionist that’s walked over them. It’s a guy with sleek blond hair, on the youngish side with a nametag that says ‘Johnny’. Kinda handsome in that charming, twinky way if Mac were to admit it. Not that he ever, ever would _, shit, sorry Jesus, I’ll work in some Hail Marys later, dude._

“Bingo,” Dennis mutters to Mac. “Receptionist's computer.”

“Don’t worry guys,” Dee says under her breath, a cool smile spreading across her face. Her hands move to hike up her bra through her shirt. “I got this.”

“Oh God, Dee, you do not,” Mac moans. Beside them, Frank grins.

“ _I_ got this,” he says, eyes glinting with a light they’ve learned to recognize and fear, and things quickly dissolve from there.

* * *

“Huh. Musta left it in the car,” Charlie says, patting his pockets. Just in case, he pries open Doc's box of papers to grade and peeks inside, and nope, it's not in there either.

“Mmm, most likely,” Doc replies. He’s shucked off his really nice coat to reveal a light grey sweater that looks soft enough to make Charlie's fingers itch to touch, and rolled up his sleeves over the kitchen counter to slice up some carrots for dinner tonight. Doc suggested a lemon ginger chicken saute for dinner tonight,  _hand-made,_ and Charlie’s pretty psyched about making it. He’s always loved to cook-- nobody can make a grilled Charlie like him, he’s checked-- and thanks to Doc, Charlie’s learned just how good veggies can taste if you season them right. But that doesn't explain how ginger ale tastes so good when ginger root looks so damn weird. 

“Do you want to wait until after dinner to retrieve it?" Doc asks, as Charlie helps take some ingredients out of the fridge. Chicken, yes, weird ginger root, check, but do they actually need lemons? Probably, that makes sense. Maybe he'll get to squeeze 'em. "The weather is truly miserable outside, it will be up to our knees at this rate.”

Charlie grins at the distaste in Doc’s voice. Doc _hates_ the snow, and Charlie thinks it’s hilarious. Of all the things to bother a supergenius like Doc, why snow? Why not something that’s smart to hate, like chest-burster aliens or evil robot assassins from the future or telemarketers?

Apparently, Doc sees him smiling and shoots him a look under a tall eyebrow, a look that makes Charlie wonder again if what Doc said about mind-readers being a scientific impossibility was true, and Charlie only smiles wider in return.

“I wanna text Mac and hear what the gang’s doing tonight,” he explains. “They were plannin’ something when I left, wanna know how it turns out for ‘em.”

“Ah. Already to task on their newest scheme?” Doc asks, with equal parts amusement and weariness.

“Yeah. Think it has something to do with the Flyers game tonight? I dunno, I wasn’t really paying attention, you were almost to the bar when Mac came in with the news.” Charlie watches Doc with casual interest as he lifts his cutting board to slide the sliced carrots into a bowl by the stove, and leans a hip on the counter.

“Mm, I see.” Doc looks at him and Charlie sees a small smile has crept onto his face. “Distracted, were you?”

“Well, yeah,” Charlie says honestly. “You were on your way and I was excited! I love Saturday dinners and I’ve never had lemon ginger chicken before and it’s my turn to pick the movie!”

Doc’s eyes warm up Charlie’s insides like hot coffee. “I was excited, too,” he says, and something behind Charlie’s chest squeezes very, very tight. To fight the sudden energy leaping beneath his skin, he traces his tongue anxiously against his teeth. The feel of minty smoothness he’s learned to appreciate from brushing summons a memory, and Mac’s words echo through his head again like a song he can’t get out of his head.

_“When chicks make out with you, your mouth won’t taste like shit."_

_“My mouth will taste good? To people? Like...during, like,_ kissing?"

Charlie rubs awkwardly at his cheeks like he's scratching his gristle, hoping the bonfires burning beneath them aren’t making him flush bright red. For some reason, thinking about kissing when standing in Doc’s apartment makes him feel too big for his own body, like he could explode and fly apart like an oversized piñata.

_"You like someone!"_

_"Me and...classier chicks?"_

“Uh. Good," Charlie croaks. "Yeah. Me too.” _Stupid, stupid, I just said that!_ “I...uh...picked _Point Break._ To watch. You seemed to like _John Wick_ okay from last time I picked, so I thought, uh. Why not keep up the Keanu? He's a badass dude.”

Doc clears his throat and retrieves a defrosted package of chicken breast from Charlie's pile. “I- yes. Keanu Reeves is certainly no poor choice of theme, perhaps next week we could watch _The Matrix_? Preferably only the first in that series, I’m afraid its sequels aren’t much to my liking.” His smooth voice has gotten a little quick and rambly, like Charlie’s noticed it does whenever Doc is uncertain about something, and his gaze flickers from Charlie to the bowl of seasoning he’s preparing. He shouldn’t worry, Charlie doesn’t really like the Matrix sequels either. Too confusing and weird.

Doc pauses, shifts his feet on the tile floor. “You’re- ehrm. You’re welcome to take the car keys and go retrieve it. Your mobile. I can handle dinner preparations until then.” He looks up at Charlie, meeting him in the eyes. Charlie swallows hard and nods, wiggling his toes in his shoes to release the quivering feeling built up inside. He feels like a battery, all charged up, and while it’s not as bad as being electrocuted, he can’t help but compare the lingering zing of the exposed wires in the bar’s switchboard to the tingling he feels now humming down his ribs and spine.

“Uh, cool,” he says, voice crackling like aluminum foil. _Don’t be weird, don’t be weird. Staring makes things weird, so just don't, Jesus Christ!_ “Yeah, okay, I’ll help you finish when I get back, I wanna slice the onions!” He meanders quickly across the apartment towards the front door, where the keys are sitting on a table beside the rack where they hung their coats. “You know, I can’t find my wallet either? I’m just losin’ stuff all over the place today.”

Doc chuckles, shaking his head. The weird nervousness in his voice has disappeared, and Charlie’s heartbeat finds its normal rhythm again. “With luck, you’ll find it in the car as well. Check your jacket pockets first?”

Charlie does, and comes up empty. “Nope. Good guess, though. I always lose crap in this jacket. There’s like, holes in the pocket liners, so stuff falls right through all the time.” He grabs the keys from the doorside table. “‘Kay, I’ll be right back.”

“Take your jacket, Charlie, it’s _cold_ ,” Doc says, and Charlie waves him off, smirking at the sound of Doc’s voice, all concern-y and bossy. He thought after his mom he’d hate hanging out with somebody that told him what to do all the time, but when Doc does it, it’s different somehow. Smarter, yeah, but also...different. Good different. His mom telling him to do stuff is too much ugh and guilt and _ugh_ , the gang telling him to do stuff sounds mean and assholey, but with Doc, _Charlie, you dumbass_ comes out “It’s quite alright, Charlie” and _What the fuck, Charlie_ is “Charlie, please be careful,” or “Please don’t do that, you could get hurt” or sometimes even, best of all, “Charlie, why do you want to do that?” and “No, I don’t think you’re weird.”

And with Doc, he never feels bad about doing what he wants to anyway. “It’ll be only a few seconds,” he says, “My sweater’s totally warm!” Doc’s answering click of the tongue makes him grin, and he opens the door and goes into the hall. He’s barely stepped out, hand still closed around the knob to pull the door closed, when he collides with a tall, jerseyed chest.

“Whoa, sor- _Mac?”_

* * *

“Wha- what are you guys doin’ here?” Charlie asks, staring at them all where they’re crowded around Door 406. He looks like totally normal, clueless Charlie, all red-sweatered and scruffy, but Mac knows better. This Charlie is a fraud. A mostly literate, Irish Spring-smelling fraud.

“Uhh...Well, this is a lucky break,” Dennis says, exchanging a surprised look with Mac, and Charlie’s face scrunches with confusion.

“Huh? Seriously, guys, what are you- how did you guys even know where-”

“No time to explain, Charlie,” Mac says harshly. He swoops into Charlie’s face, making the man lean back, bewildered and blinking. “We’ve gotta go, man, right now.”

Charlie frowns, eyebrows furrowing. “Go? Dude, I’m kinda busy with somethin’ here. We’re making ginger chicken!”

“Ginger chick- ginger chicken?” Mac grits his teeth. “Goddammit, Charlie, you need to listen me, man, the chicken’s a _lie."_

Charlie's response is to stare bug-eyed at him like he’s lost his mind, and Mac could honestly scream.

“Uhh,” Charlie says blankly. “What?”

“Dude, we gotta move,” Dennis says, voice urgent as he scans the hallway, and Mac nods.

“We’re not fuckin’ around, dude, c’mon.” He moves forward to snag Charlie’s arm but Charlie sidesteps away.

“Dude, what the hell, _no,”_ Charlie says, annoyed, “I can’t do the gang thing tonight, I told you, I’m busy with Doc-”

“Charlie?” A voice calls from inside the apartment, curious and British as shit. “Charlie, is someone at the door?”

Shit fuck. He jerks his chin to Dennis, heart pounding, and they meet eyes. There’s a stolen moment where Mac’s trapped in Dennis’s admittedly mesmerizing baby blues, and then nodding as one, they look together at Charlie.

_Now or never, bitches._

Charlie’s moving against the apartment door as if to push it open, already beginning to speak, when Mac and Dennis lunge. Charlie gives a tremendous squawk as Mac goes for a classic chokehold, one arm snaking around the guy’s scruffy neck while the other loops around one of Charlie’s shoulders to immobilize the arm. _Fuck yeah, Youtube tutorials work!_

“Dude, his legs!” he yells, as Charlie starts slapping and clawing at Mac’s arms. Dennis dives for Charlie’s legs, swearing as one of Charlie’s Vans clocks him in the chest in his flailing. Dennis grunts, finally snagging his ankles, and together they lift Charlie’s writhing body and book it backwards to the elevator. Charlie bucks like a fish the whole time, squeaking and scrabbling against the arm at his throat, making them stumble.

“Fucking quit it, dude, you're heavy! Jesus, you're lucky me and Dennis are ripped!” Mac complains as he stabs the elevator call button. It opens immediately-- _thank you, God, my Lord and Savior_ \-- and they stumble in.

Several things happen then, almost at once. Dennis drops Charlie’s legs, slams the ground floor button and starts frantically spamming the ‘close doors’ one. Charlie sends a vicious elbow in Mac’s chest, making him cough and loosen his hold. Charlie sucks in air and lets out a ridiculous, ear-splitting screech of animal rage. A shout is thrown across the hallway, making them all jerk to stare through the closing elevator doors.

_“Charlie!”_

The doors slide shut on Dr. McLameAss’s horrified face, but there’s just enough time for Mac to flip him the bird with the same arm wrapped around Charlie’s neck.

The elevator shudders as it begins to move down, and Mac immediately has to dodge a reverse headbutt. “Dude, _chill!”_ he barks, pissed. Charlie lets out a howl of frustration in response, now trying to shimmy out of Mac’s grip like a eel. “We’re doing this for your own good, man!”

“A chokehold is for my own _good?!”_ Charlie yells, voice straining through several octaves. He continues to struggle, feet skidding on the smooth elevator floor, and suddenly Mac roars as his hand lights up with burning pain.

“OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, CHARLIE-”

“Holy shit, dude, he’s fucking biting you-”

“I KNOW HIS TEETH ARE FUCKING DUG IN DUDE HELP-”

“Charlie, knock it off, we’re saving you!” Dennis yells, trying uselessly to pry Mac’s arm from the snake-like grip of Charlie’s mouth. “You’ll thank us for this when we get back to the bar, okay?”

“JESUS CHRIST MAKE HIM STOP OH MY GOD IT HURTS!”

Charlie doubles down, screaming incomprehensibly into the flesh of Mac’s arm and wriggling in his grip, and the elevator doors open. Mac, still yelling and definitely totally bleeding now, drags Charlie bodily out into the lobby.

“Guys!” Dennis shouts towards the reception desk. Dee and Frank pop up from behind it, looking deeply suspicious with no receptionist in sight, and Dennis waves wildly. “We got Charlie, let’s get out of-”

Dennis’s words break off when suddenly like a bat out of hell, an umbrella appears to slam down on the back of his head. Dennis yelps and stumbles, and before Mac can even cry out in terror, the umbrella comes down upon him without mercy. He crumples under the onslaught, releasing Charlie to throw up his hands, and suddenly everything he knows is pain.

 _“Take that, brute!”_ he hears shouted, beneath the slamming of the umbrella across his back and shoulders and his own girlish shrieks. Behind even that he can hear Dee and Frank panicking and Dennis wailing in pain.

"Oh, God, my back-"

“Holy shit, the nerd's got a weapon! I told you I shoulda brought my piece!”

After a brief pummelling, the blows on Mac’s body cease, and taking the chance he scuttles desperately away towards the gang. Skull pounding, he stares at his attacker-- _sweet baby Moses, it’s McLameAss_ \-- with disbelief as the man quickly bends down to where Charlie is sprawled on the floor, gawking up at him with glassy eyes.

“Charlie,” Doc says, gasping for breath from what must have been a dead sprint down four flights of stairs, and his voice is frantic. “Charlie, are you alright?”

“Doc-” Charlie croaks, hand at his throat and blood on his teeth, and Doc quickly helps him to his feet, muttering something Mac can’t hear through the pain thumping through his head.

“Jesus Christ, what's wrong with you, asshole?!” Mac yells, clutching his arm. That shit’s totally broken, Mac swears to God, what's that umbrella made of, _steel?_

“Stay back, you- you heathen!” Science Bitch shouts at him, eyes wide as he lifts the umbrella with the hand not attached to Charlie. The gang dances back a few steps, lifting their hands in surrender and babbling for mercy. “I’ve- I have called the authorities, don’t come any closer or I’ll-”

“Doc, Doc,” Charlie attempts, patting at the man’s sweatered arm. “Holy shit, dude...you just totally kicked their asses! That was so badass!” Charlie’s voice cracks a few times under the effort of speaking, and Doc gives him a stricken look. “I’m cool, Doc, I’m good. Deep breaths, man, you’re panting.”

 _How the hell did such a nerd beat the shit out of me?_ Mac wonders, dazed. With a fucking umbrella? _Jesus Christ, he’s wearing a cable-knit sweater!_

“What,” McLameAss tries, voice snapping once before starting again. “What the devil is going on here?”

“I have no idea, dude,” Charlie says hoarsely, looking at them and shaking his head in disbelief. “They were in the hallway when I opened the door and they totally jumped me!”

“I-” Doc blinks rapidly at them, expression suddenly struck with recognition. “Aren’t these- Charlie, aren’t these your _friends?”_

“Damn straight, we’re his friends!” Mac shouts, cradling his arm. “And we’re here to get Charlie back, you science bitch!” The rest of the gang is summoned to agree with a few shouts of “Yeah!” and “Science Bitch!” and Charlie and Doc both stare at him.

“What the hell are you talking about, man?” Charlie demands. “You tried to kidnap me! That- that was totally a kidnapping thing that you just did!”

“We did it to _save_ you, dude!” Mac fires back, and Charlie’s jaw swings open.

“Save me?” he squeaks. “From what?!”

“From that fuckin’ science bitch over there!” Frank stabs a vicious finger Doc’s way. “We know everything, you slimy bastard, and we’re not gonna let you take Charlie away from us!”

 _“What?!”_ Charlie shrieks again, hands coming up to futilely grab the air, and Doc shakes in head with a look of incomprehension that Mac knows must be practiced. _Sneaky son of a bitch._

“Take him away from you?” Doc repeats. “What on Earth are you talking about? I’m not _taking_ Charlie anywhere, in any shape or form!”

“Don’t play dumb, asshole!”

“We know your game, man,” Dennis says, wincing through a quickly swelling jaw. He waggles a finger Doc’s way, shaking his head. “We know everything. About the reading, the library, the museum and the aquarium. We’re onto your scheme, man, and I gotta say...” Dennis trails off for a moment, chuckling darkly. “I am impressed. Very impressed. From one fellow intellectual to another, let me just express my total appreciation of your skills. Remaking Charlie’s no easy task, but you? You molded him like a sculptor. Like a master. Like PSwayze with the hands of Demi Moore.”

“What is he talking about?” Charlie begs of Doc, who shakes his head, mystified.

“I haven’t the slightest idea.”

“Oh, I think you do,” Dennis says, smirking. “Why not brag about your achievements, my friend? I certainly would. It takes a true artist to do what you’ve done here."

“Oh my _God!_ Dennis! Speak _English!”_ Charlie screams, desperate, and Dee cuts her brother off before he can start to speak again.

“Jesus, Charlie, don’t you get it?” she snaps. “We’re here to save you from Science Bitch because he’s been turning you into a cleaner, smarter human being! He’s _brainwashing_ you!”

Charlie and Doc’s jaws both drop to the floor. There’s a horrible silence, where Charlie looks paralyzed and Doc looks dumbstruck, and Mac relishes in it like the winner he is. God, he called this shit so hard. It feels so fucking good being right.

“I-” Charlie’s voice falters, overwhelmed. “I- I don’t. What?”

“I...have never,” Doc says slowly. “In my life, _ever_ , heard something so preposterous. I have not- I could nev- what on _God’s green Earth_ could have planted such a ludicrous idea in your heads?”

“I figured it all out, bitch.” Mac's smile is cool with victory. “You’ve been brainwashing Charlie for weeks, dude, and I have evidence to prove it. Charlie’s been different ever since he started hanging out with you, and you're a scientist who we all know has a history of experimenting on people. Well, game's over, dick, we’re not gonna let you erase what makes Charlie Charlie! He’s _our_ dirtgrub!”

“I’m not _erasing_ anything!” Doc says, seemingly horrified. “Never mind whether that is even possible _,_ why would I do such a thing?”

“Because you’re a science bitch, that’s why!” Frank barks. “And you’ve been sciencing Charlie, because that’s what your kind does!”

“...My _kind?_ ”

“Your experiment ends today, Doctor Douche,” Dee throws out, and Dennis gives her a high five.

“I’m not- I would _never_ experiment on Charlie!” Doc says, shaking his head in disbelief. “Not only is the idea just- _morally_ and ethically reprehensible, it's also completely wrong. Charlie- he's my _friend,_ not a subject! I would never manipulate him im such a way-”

“You have before!” Mac says, and Charlie, who started grinning stupidly when Doc said ‘my friend’, visibly pales.

“ _Not_ without his consent,” Doc insists, voice steely now. “And it was wrong of me to do as I did in the first place. I would never experiment on someone without their knowledge, not ever, especially not on Charlie. I should like to hear whatever proof you may think you possess, sir, so that I may quickly refute it.”

“Whatever dude, you may have Charlie fooled, but not us, alright? Your caring doctor act is bullshit, and Charlie’s just too dumb to see through it to realize you’re totally mindfucking him! You're just using him for some stupid study or something! Trying to see if you can make a gross weirdo like Charlie smarter by spending time with him and shit, just like you tried to do by giving him fake pills!”

At this point, Charlie’s eyes are the size of quarters. _That’s it, buddy,_ Mac thinks encouragingly. _Come back to us, dude. Fight it, you’re stronger than him._

“I-” Charlie begins, but his voice dissolves. When he finds it again, it comes out quiet, small. “Doc’s my friend,” he says. “He wouldn’t...he wouldn’t try to mindfuck me. Right?” He turns to Doc. “You...you wouldn’t, right?”

Doc looks at Charlie, at the shaky expression on his face, and the man’s hand on Charlie’s sweatered shoulder tightens. “Never. I would never do that, Charlie, I-” Doc’s voice cuts off, just once, before regaining its strength. “I'm sorry I ever performed a study like that on you in the first place, it was wrong and I will never do something like that again, I promise to you. Friends don’t...manipulate one another. And you _are_ my friend.”

“Okay,” Charlie says. “Yeah, okay. I know, you’re my friend, too. I would totally never mindfuck you either.”

“Oh my God, Charlie, don’t be a fool! He’s manipulating you right now!” Dennis shouts. “A master makes everything manipulation, even reassurance!”

“He’s playing you like a frickin violin!” Frank cries.

“God in Heaven, will the lot of you _shut up_ ?” Doc’s voice has grown thunderous, and Dennis and Mac both flinch as the umbrella in his hand twitches. “I have not and will not ever seek to influence or condition Charlie in any way, now would you please get the _hell_ out of here before the authorities arrive?”

“Pssh, like a nerd like you called the cops. And it’s not like you got Johnny to worry about,” Dee says.

“What did you people do to Jonathan?!”

“Aww, man, Johnny’s cool, guys! What the hell?”

“He’s fine,” Frank grumbles. “Just tied up in the back office. Little shit wouldn’t succumb to bribery or threats.”

“Or my seductive powers!” Dee adds. “He’s gotta be gay, I mean, who could resist this?”

“Literally anyone, Dee, blind people could resist that,” Mac snaps, annoyed. “Besides, none of that fucking matters, okay, what does matters is Science Bitch is a lying liar and I can prove it!” Mac points to Charlie. “The spelling. The reading. The texting. The brushing and flossing and the laundry and the clean apartment and the beard-trimming and the skipping out on Project Badass Day! You’re being fucking _groomed_ , dude. Can’t you see that?”

Doc looks floored. “I didn’t understand a bit of that,” he says hopelessly, and Charlie speaks up.

“Dude, I _told_ you Doc was teaching me to read and write ages ago! He taught me how to keep my apartment clean and how to smell and look better, so yeah I brush my teeth and I clean my sheets sometimes. But you said all that stuff was good! And I- I _like_ hanging out with Doc and learning stuff! I like the taste of toothpaste and nice flowers and finally learning how to read better!" The jagged tension in Charlie's shoulders drops away, and the frustrated volume of his voice fades. "And...like, you know, I don’t even huff paint and stuff like I used to. It's not that...that I don't _want_ to huff sometimes, but Doc's been helping me stop and...and it really makes everything a lot easier to keep in my head? Stuff like...bein' clean and big words. And remembering not to sniff paint even when I wanna, cuz it's bad for me and hurts my brain.”

“Since when have you gave a shit about any of that stuff, dude?” Mac demands. “You’ve been a disgusting high-chasing slime monster ever since were kids, and you haven’t changed at-fucking-all, not even for the Waitress! Do you even _like_ her anymore, dude?”

“Of course I do!” Charlie says, voice shooting up again. “But following her around and recording stuff like I used to do probably makes her hate me and stuff so I stopped doing that! And now that I don’t follow her around any more and only see her every once in a while, she gets less mad at me at the coffee shop and I don’t go crazy thinking about her all the time!”

“Oh yeah, did Doc tell you to stop following her around? Was he the one to say it made her hate you? He’s trying to _control_ you, dude, take away the things that make you you! Obsession with the Waitress, huffing, and, like, dirt and shit! Dead animals! Ghouls!”

“Just shut the fuck up, dude! You don't get it, you just- you know, Doc is actually one of the few people who doesn’t think I’m dumb or like, gross? Or maybe even, like, the only person?” Charlie’s voice cracks severely, like a thirteen-year-old boy in choir. “He’s not trying to change me, dude, he..." Charlie trails off, looking at Doc questioningly.

"I like Charlie just the way he is," Doc says firmly, and Charlie visibly melts. Mac could puke.

"Yeah," Charlie says slowly, staring at Doc with open admiration before looking back to Mac. "Doc's not a brainwasher, dude, he's  _cool."_

Mac’s eyes narrow on the tight grip Doc has on Charlie’s shoulder, rage coiling in his gut. “So he makes you feel all important or smart and shit, and then you think you’re better than us and just ditch? Just like you did with those genius pills? Well, fuck you, dude, this new!Charlie bullshit is total crap and you’re the same fucking idiot who fell for it the first time!”

“Charlie is _not_ an idiot,” Doc snaps sharply. “He has a bright, curious mind and when he sets his mind to something, he’s fast to learn. His addiction to inhalants and his undiagnosed dyslexia simply made it more difficult for him to learn than others, but he is overcoming those challenges more than admirably! He is capable of so much more than you give him credit for, and he deserves better from someone who claims to be his friend!”

Charlie stares at Doc like he hung the fucking sun, and Mac wants to punch him in his stupid sharp cheekbones.

“Charlie? A _bright, curious_ mind?” Dennis echoes. “My god, man, is this what you’ve been telling him? Incredible. I need to add those to my D.E.N.N.I.S. playbooks.”

“What is _wrong_ with you people?” Doc says. “I’m not gaslighting Charlie, for the last bloody time! He is my friend, I care about him! Why is this so difficult to understand?”

“Why the hell else would a nerd like you be hanging with a weirdo like Charlie?” Dee asks. “He’s a filthy animal who smells terrible on the best of days and acts like a lunatic on the worst of them!”

Charlie makes an offended noise and Doc’s face twists with anger. “He’s not a _filthy animal,_ ” Doc says, outraged. “He is- he is funny! He’s adventurous, he's musically talented! He's considerate and he tells fascinating stories, and he’s- he’s forever curious about the smallest of things. He loves to cook and his taste in movies may be questionable but is never boring...” The defensive steel in Doc’s voice softens to something quieter, more sincere. “He is exuberant, and certainly eccentric, it’s true, but his love for life is... infectious. Spending time with him is something I...I very much look forward to, and in the weeks that I’ve gotten to know him, I’ve grown happy to call Charlie one of my closest friends.”

Doc’s cheeks are nova pink by the time he finishes, but he doesn’t look embarrassed. Instead, he ends up looking Charlie right in the eyes, who is staring at him in turn like he’s been struck on the head with a hammer.

“Dude,” Charlie whispers. “I think those are the nicest things anybody’s ever said about me.”

“My only regret is that you did not hear something of the kind sooner,” Doc says solemnly, and Charlie’s eyes get all big and shiny like they do when he’s emotional. The gang watches, all openly uncomfortable with the recognizable waterworks in Charlie’s eyes, and suddenly Dee makes a long, whispered noise of realization.

“Oh. My. God,” she says.

“What?”

“Dennis.”

“ _What?_ ”

“I think you might have been kinda right earlier,” she replies, still at a whisper. “Mostly wrong, like usual, but a little bit right.”

“What the hell are you talkin’ about, Deandra?”

“Doc might not be a chick and he might not be brainwashing Charlie,” she says leadingly, and the gang all lean in to listen to her revelation. “But that doesn’t mean he isn’t trying to _bang_ Charlie.”

She tilts her head to where Doc’s patting a choked-up Charlie, his brown eyes warm and soft, hands gentle on Charlie’s shoulders, and the gang makes a collective noise of epiphany.

“Oh, shit,” the guys say at once, and Dee slowly nods.

“Science Bitch is gay for Charlie.”

"...God  _damn_ it," Mac says.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _finally_. dee, i knew i could count on you.
> 
> doc's umbrella smackdown is (if not obviously) inspired by pr:u and the elevator scene. i restrained myself from directly quoting it, but only barely, and i won't apologize for loving the idea of doc going apeshit thinking charlie's in actual danger
> 
> next (and final) chap: doc and charlie finally...talk.


	6. VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie and Doc deal with the fallout of the gang's mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey dudes so sorry this took so long but school ended and i moved back home, so there's a lot going on. i think you'll forgive me for the wait considering, though ;) thanks so much for the continued support!!

**6:**

 

“Son of a _bitch._ ”

“ _I knew it,”_ Dennis hisses through his teeth. “I _knew_ it! A scientist with a dumbass kink, just like I predicted! God, I am good.” He sighs, vindicated, and shakes his head. “You know, I’d almost pity the bastard if I didn’t understand him. There’s nothing like lying with a woman without two brain cells to rub together, trust me, it’s a real ego boost.”

Dee groans. “Gross. We don’t care, idiot, we need to decide what to tell Charlie.”

“ _Tell_ him?” Dennis asks incredulously. “And ruin the sweet plan Doc’s got goin’ on? From one professional to another, I’m willing to walk away from this one and just let the guy bang him. He’s clearly put in the work, I mean, hell, Charlie’d be lucky to score someone of his caliber.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?!” Mac says, disbelieving. “We’re _telling Charlie._ Jesus Christ, Doc wants to _bang_ him! He wants to have gay sex! With Charlie! Gay! He doesn’t really want to be his friend!”

“So what?” Dee says. “Charlie’s a grown ass man. If the guy wants to fuck him, he can say yes or he can say no, even Charlie can’t fuck that up.”

“Charlie’s not gonna say yes to fucking a _dude!”_ Mac whisper-yells, scandalized.

“Uh, you sure, dumbass? Because his googly eyes for Doc say different,” Dee says, inclining her head to where Doc is doting over a blubbering Charlie. Mac sucks in a breath, face flushing in rage, and Frank cuts him off.

“I could give a shit who Charlie pounds in his own time, whether it’s chicks or dudes,” Frank says. “But do we tell him Doc’s runnin’ a scheme on him to get in his pants? Kid might get his heart broke.”

“Aww, Frank,” Dee says, hand on her heart. “You care.”

Frank shrugs. “I don’t wanna deal with a mopin’, cryin’ Charlie in the apartment. Bums me out, and it’s hard to sleep when he goes into the crevice.”

“Touching,” Dennis deadpans. “Look, I say we leave Doc to try to bang Charlie all he wants, I really don’t care. There’s clearly no brainwashing and Mac’s just an idiot, and I’d rather leave before the guy calls the cops for real for tying up the receptionist.”

“I think it’s sweet that Charlie’s made a friend,” Dee says. “Doc’s clearly a good influence, I mean, Charlie’s way less weird now.”

“ _No,_ ” Mac says, rubbing his face in exasperation. “Goddamn it, guys, I want my friend back, and I’m not leaving him to be- to be _creeped on_ by Loser Doctor Love over there!”

“Listen, dude,” Dennis says tiredly, “Either Charlie wises up and dumps him, or he wises up, they do the dirty, and then Doc leaves his grubby ass. Both ways end up with Charlie crawling back, so honestly it’s just a matter of time.”

Mac blinks. “Really?” he asks, surprised and hopeful. “You think?”

“Yeah, dude. I give it one more month, max. This shit will work itself out on its own, I guarantee it. So can we go now? My head is _throbbi_ _ng,_ dude, I need some lavender oil and a bubble bath, like, yesterday.”

“Uh. Sure, I guess,” Mac says. “Yeah, my arm is all jacked up, I wanna go back to bar and put some ice on this shit.”

The gang all straighten up from their huddle at once, voices returning to a normal volume.

“Sounds good, wanna watch the Flyers game?”

“I could go for a beer.”

“Yeah, let’s go. Thank God, this was so dumb, Mac.”

* * *

Charlie’s trying really, really hard not to cry, but it’s almost impossible. Doc’s hands are all gentle patting his shoulders, and his throat is so tight it feels like he’s swallowed an entire brick whole. He can’t stop replaying what Doc said in his head, rewinding it like a videotape, and all those _words--_ even the ones that Charlie didn't fully understand-- make his heart cramp.

He’s never- nobody’s _ever_ said stuff that nice about him before. Not ever, and it wasn’t just nice shit, it was- it was _really_ \- Doc said he was- _Jesus_ _,_ he wants to fucking cry, he’s going to cry, he can feel those watery assholes well up in his eyes right now and it’s so embarrassing he wants to cry _more_.  

“Charlie, what’s wrong?” Doc asks, face blurred behind the tears. His voice is quiet, concerned in a way that makes Charlie’s throat constrict.

“Aww, man,” he says thickly, lifting his sleeve and burying his eyes into the wool. He’s gonna look so stupid, crying just because Doc said he was smart and talented and his friend and-guhh _,_   _fuck_ ,his heart is literally going to throw up. “M’sorry, I’m just-”

“I...it’s alright, Charlie,” Doc says softly.

“I know,” Charlie says. “I’m not _sad_ , jeez, I’m just...” He sniffs loudly, rubbing the tears from his eyes, and gives Doc a watery smile. “Nobody’s ever said anything like that about me before and-” He swallows to clear the gross clogginess in his voice. “It just made me really happy? I get teary when I'm happy and stuff, it's like, really embarrassing, don't make fun of me, man.”

Doc’s eyes crinkle at the corners. Charlie is obsessed with those crinkles, still, and one of these days Charlie is gonna get a picture of them, so he can practice drawing them looking at the real thing. His current attempts don’t do Doc any justice.

“Of course not, I’m...glad to have made you so happy, Charlie.”

“Me too,” Charlie says. Doc’s hands slowly drop from Charlie’s shoulders, and Charlie almost wishes they hadn’t. He normally doesn’t really like people touching him, but with Doc, it’s different. Most things are, actually, now that Charlie thinks about it. He’s just happy someone as awesome as Doc doesn’t mind touching him, especially when Doc knows just the kind of gross stuff Charlie gets into on a daily basis. Maybe it’s because Doc knows and doesn’t care, that Charlie doesn’t mind Doc touching him.

 _Or maybe,_ a voice in his head says, one that sounds a little like Mac, _it’s because-_

There’s the loud sound of a throat being cleared, and Charlie turns to see the gang all moving away towards the exit.

“Hey, dude, we’re just gonna go,” Mac offers, waving a hand. All the anger and frustration from earlier is completely gone from his face, and the rest of the gang look similarly unbothered in their retreat. “Good luck with your Doc, sorry about earlier. See you later, man.”

Charlie waves back, too surprised to do anything else as they all walk out the lobby sliding doors. “Uh. Okay. Bye, man. See you guys later.” Beside him, Doc gawks open-mouthed.

“They’re just- they’re just _leaving?_ ” Doc sputters. “All that nonsense and _dragging you away_ and they’re just going to _leave?_ ”

Charlie shrugs. “Guess so. They’re like that sometimes. No hard feelings, I guess. Glad they don’t think you’re a brainwasher anymore.” He swallows nervously at the stupefied expression on Doc’s face, certain any moment it will transform into anger. It’s all Charlie’s fault the guys came here and made Doc freak. Doc might get mad at Charlie for the whole thing.

“Uh. Wanna go untie Johnny and call the cops?”

Doc just stares after the gang, shaking his head, and Charlie thinks his giant brain might be shorting out. That’s okay, the guys can be a lot. Charlie pats Doc consolingly on the elbow, and guides Doc towards the receptionist office. “C’mon, man. Let’s get Johnny and go finish our chicken. I’m hungry.”

* * *

Johnny, when they free him, immediately calls the police, and after some short interviews that leave the cops giving Charlie looks he really doesn’t like, he and Doc finally wind up back in Doc’s apartment.

Charlie doesn’t know what to say. They haven’t spoken much at all since they left the lobby, or in the elevator, or the hallway, really. Now, standing in Doc’s apartment, watching Doc quietly poke the chicken on the stovetop, it feels like a huge balloon animal is trapped in his stomach. Pretty soon it’s going to burst and Charlie is going to say something stupid, because silence is something that he and Doc never have to deal with and something Charlie knows he’s terrible at. The longer it lasts, the more anxious he gets, and the more his lungs clench.

Doc’s shoulders are tense beneath the lines of his sweater, and Charlie stares at his back, grip spasming on the edge of the kitchen counter. He has to say something, because he might literally die if nobody says anything soon, and because if he doesn’t Doc could just make up his mind and say something like, “Charlie, your friends made some good points back there” or “Your friends are too much, Charlie”, or something else along the lines of Doc finally wising up and kicking Charlie out of his apartment and his friendship like Charlie’s been secretly, horribly scared of since forever and-

“ _I’m sorry!_ ” he blurts desperately, just as Doc turns around and says his name.

Doc’s eyebrows jump up and Charlie bites his lip so hard it hurts. _Crap, too loud._ He always gets shouty when he's nervous.

“What are you sorry about?” Doc asks, frowning. “I apologize if I was quiet, I was...lost in thought.” Doc’s expression goes a little stormy, and Charlie’s heart sinks.

“The guys,” Charlie says, and he knows that’s exactly what Doc was thinking about because Doc’s frown becomes a tight, unhappy line that tugs painfully at Charlie’s gut. Doc _is_ mad. Jesus Christ, he’s gonna throw up. “I’m sorry. They ruined our dinner and made you upset and locked Johnny in a closet-”

"I-” Doc begins, before cutting himself off. “Charlie...” He sighs, and fuck _, fuck,_ he can’t-

“I gotta- bathroom,” he chokes out, and books it to Doc’s bathroom like his ass is on fire.

“Charlie?”

He closes the door on Doc’s concerned voice and immediately sits down hard, shoes squeaking on the clean tile. He brings his legs up to his chest, head dropping to rest on the tops of his knees, and tries to breathe through the ugly trapped in his ribcage. _Stupid, stupid, hiding in the bathroom is weird, too. If Doc’s gonna make you leave, then he’s gonna do it even if you puke in his toilet._

Which means it doesn’t matter if he does, so he honestly just might. He feels awful. His heart feels like it’s been sat on by an elephant, and he is so fucking sad that it’s hard not to cry even though he was happy just a few minutes ago? Fuck, he doesn’t want Doc to tell him to go. He wants to stay. He doesn’t want to lose Saturday movie nights and trips to the library and they already have tickets for the planetarium next week and-- Charlie’s eyes burn with tears. He wishes the gang hadn’t shown up and ruined fucking everything because Doc wasn’t just a thing, he was Charlie’s _friend_ and he didn’t want Doc to go anywhere. If Doc goes away, Charlie doesn’t know what he’s going to do, because-

Through the staticy panic in his ears, he hears Doc gently say his name from the other side of the door.

“Are you alright, Charlie?”

Charlie sucks in a too-big breath. “I’m good!” He lets out a nervous laugh that doesn’t really stop once he’s let it out. “I’m- Smell of chicken, uh, made me a little queasy. Didn’t wanna be sick, you know?”

“Charlie,” Doc says again, doubtfully, and Charlie buries his hands in his hair. Doc always knows when Charlie lies, not just because Charlie’s a horrible liar, but because Doc knows everything. Knows Charlie too well for him to pretend, even though he doesn’t want to tell Doc why he’s on the bathroom floor. He doesn’t want Doc to give him sad eyes and still kick him out-- he can’t even handle one of those things, let alone both of them.

“Charlie...come out here.”

Fear lightning bolts through him. “Uhhh, one second-”

“Charlie. Please.”

 _Oh god oh god oh god._ “Ooookay. Okay!” Charlie rubs his face furiously, hoping his eyes don’t look as red and achy as they feel, and stands up. He sucks in a steeling breath after standing up, giving himself a couple pep slaps on the cheeks, before opening the door. He sees Doc standing close to the door, expression serious.

“Heyyyy.” He swallows and tries to smile, hand coming up to card through his messed-up hair. “I’m good now, just-”

Doc steps forward quickly, into Charlie’s personal space, and before he knows it, there are arms around him. Charlie’s jaw sags, the warm feeling of Doc’s arms wrapping around tight around his shoulders paralyzing him.

“Wha-”

“...You have nothing to apologize for, Charlie,” Doc says, and his smooth voice is so... _there_ next to Charlie’s ear, hushed but loud and close enough to fill Charlie’s entire brain with fuzz. “I was...upset because of some of things they said. I- I don’t want you to think I am angry with you.”

Charlie remembers how to move his arms and reciprocates Doc’s hug, thinking dazedly how different this hug is from any other he’s been a part of. Doc isn’t so tall that Charlie feels tiny, but he’s tall enough that Charlie’s face can just bury itself into Doc’s shoulder, and he’s very...close. Their chests are pressed up against each other, and he wonders if he’s imagining the feeling of a heartbeat through Doc’s sweater. It’s...good. Warm.

“You’re not?” he asks, voice croaky.

“No. I’m not. To be truthful, I’m- I'm not quite sure it’s possible for me to be angry with you. You’ve hardly given me reason enough to do so yet, and even then, I doubt I could be upset for long.” Doc’s arms are pulling away, and Charlie resists the urge to frown and pull him back because of how nice it felt. But Doc doesn’t step away too far, and the blush on his face is also nice. Charlie has feelings about Doc’s blushes, and Doc’s words make those feelings dance around in his bloodstream like vibrations from a speaker cranked up too loud.

“Did you mean all those things you said downstairs? Not just the stuff about me being better at learning but...the stuff about me bein’...infectious? That’s good, right? Not infectious like being sick or anything?”

Doc chuckles, and he’s standing close enough to Charlie that he can see Doc’s slim shoulders shake with it. Charlie feels a sudden urge to feel them move beneath his hands, to _touch,_ and while it isn’t the first time he’s felt that, it’s strong enough that Charlie sways a bit in restraining himself. He can’t just touch because he wants to, because that’s weird and Charlie understands personal space, but he _really_ wants to, more than he thinks he’s wanted anything. It’s an overwhelming feeling that makes his fingers twitch. It's not a  _bad_ feeling, it's just- he thinks he shouldn’t. He shouldn’t. Right, because that’s weird, right-

“Yes, I meant every word." Doc's words are slow and tentative, like they're fragile. Fragile, but honest, like Doc always is. He's the only one Charlie is certain never lies to him, not even when it's easier than explaining things like Doc so often must. "When I said infectious I meant that you...that because you are so happy, it makes me feel the same. Because you like to learn so much, you make me appreciate a lot of that which I take for granted. Being around you makes me see things...in a brighter light, as you do.”

“I see things in a brighter light?” Charlie asks, making a face.

Doc swallows again, eyes skirting away from Charlie. “Or perhaps, you make things brighter by proximity,” he says, voice quieter. Proximity. Charlie knows that word, he learned it a while ago. It means- it means nearness. Doc is happy when Charlie is _near._ The ugly in his chest fades, knocked out with a sucker punch by a happy roll of warmth that spreads through him like hot chocolate.

Nice. Nice, _nice,_ Doc is just so fucking nice. Jesus. He wonders if Doc knows just how nice is. Charlie doesn’t think there’s anyone nicer in the world than him.

“I thought the guys made you realize you were too awesome to hang out with me anymore,” Charlie says, embarrassed. “Got scared. S’dumb.”

“You’re not dumb, Charlie,” Doc says, like he always does, and it never stops feeling good to hear. “I’m sorry you felt so...insecure about our relationship. Although, if what your friends said in the lobby is the typical behavior you receive, I cannot blame you.” Doc’s expression slips into annoyance, mouth twisting down and brows coming together. “I apologize if this offends, Charlie, but after tonight I do _not_ think well of them, at _all._ ”

“I know, they’re weird,” Charlie says, torn between a grimace and a grin at the indignant look on Doc’s face, “But today was like, super weird. They might be on crack? I don’t know _where_ Mac got brainwashing from, I mean, we watched _Total Recall_ a few months ago, maybe that was it?”

“Honestly, brainwashing,” Doc mumbles. “Rubbish.”

 _Rubbish._ Jeez, Doc’s cute British words. They also give Charlie feelings.

“Glad they got over it, though,” Charlie says. “I don’t want ‘em to keep trying to rescue me or whatever.”

“Lord, I’ve never felt such a fright in my life,” Doc says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “When I heard you yell and saw you in that elevator, I almost had a bloody heart attack.”

Charlie stifles a giggle. “Sorry.” He doesn’t mean it, because Doc’s rescue was awesome and he’s going to treasure the memory of him hitting Dennis and Mac with his umbrella forever. “You were such a badass, dude. That was some superhero shit, with your umbrella and stuff, you were like _bam!_ Kicked Mac’s ass, dude, it was so awesome.”

Doc turns pink again and clears his throat. “Well, I did what I thought was necessary at the time, I assure you I was quite panicked and the umbrella was only the first thing at hand-”

“It was the coolest thing I’ve ever seen and I’ve seen _Thundergun Express,_ like, ten times,” Charlie says. “It’s like, my favorite movie of all time but you were cooler than that.”

Doc’s mouth presses together, the edges of his lips twitching up. “I don’t know about all that,” he says, cheekbones rosy, and Charlie grins. This is payback, he thinks, for all the nice stuff Doc said about him earlier.

“And I’m super happy you’re not upset with me, dude,” Charlie adds, pushing the buck further. “Because you’re awesome and the smartest person in the world and also, like, the nicest? You’re infectious as shit, too, because you make me wanna be smarter and be better at things, but also be better at...being good. You cook really awesome food and you take me cool places and you never make me feel bad for doing stuff, and you talk to me like I’m not the weirdest dude alive and you listen even when I talk about dumb stuff, which, you know, it's just really fuckin' nice, man. You always tell me I’m not stupid even when I do dumb things and nobody else ever does that. Makes me... happy. You make me happy, and I think besides Mac, you might be my best friend, dude. But that’s only because Mac and me made a pact to be best friends for life or else Jesus will smite us or something, so...yeah.”

Doc is glowing red now, eyes big. Charlie grins. This is easy, because Doc’s so good at everything all Charlie has to do is rattle stuff off.  He’s gonna win the compliments thing this time.

“I also like your hair a lot, and your voice,” he finishes. “And when you use British words because it’s cool and you sound like James Bond and shit.”

Doc stares at him for a second, speechless, as Charlie openly revels in it. He’s wanted to say a lot of that out loud for a while, it feels pretty good to let it out.

“I...” Doc says, voice small. “..I believe those are the kindest things anyone’s ever said about me.”

"That's stupid. Everybody should tell you those things, like, all the time, man," Charlie says, and Doc's stunned expression is...cute. At first that word felt weird to use, but nothing else fits for Doc sometimes, so Charlie’s accepted it.

The thought occurs that using that word about Doc might...mean something.

Another thought hits Charlie like a freight train, as he looks dazedly at the soft, growing smile on Doc’s face. This one makes his head spin.

Oh.

_Oh._

He blinks slowly, mind sluggish as he drags his eyes up to Doc’s.

“Doc?” he says, a little uncertainly.

Charlie steps a little closer into the limited space between them, and Doc’s eyes carefully watch him do so. “Erhm, yes?” Doc replies, voice a notch higher than it was before. He swallows visibly, pale throat working. Charlie notices, and it helps bolster his confidence a bit.

“Since we’re friends, you won’t get mad if I do somethin’ dumb, right?”

“I...Of course not,” Doc says. He lets out a breath, shoulders relaxing. He doesn't think that's what Doc expected him to say. “So long as you don’t mind if I ask why you felt the need to do something you labelled as such.”

“Promise, dude?”

Doc smiles and rolls his eyes. “I promise-”

Charlie steps forward, lifts a hand to curve around the back of Doc’s neck, and tugs him in for a kiss.

His mouth seals over Doc’s, and his fingers curl into the short hair at the nape of his neck, and- and Charlie tastes _mint._ He chases it, tongue tracing around the edge of Doc’s bottom lip, and Doc makes this _noise_ that Charlie can feel rumble into his own body. His free hand moves like a magnet to staple over Doc’s hip and drag him closer, and then they’re soldered together, the line of Doc’s body against his kicking up sparks in Charlie’s gut.

Their noses bump, and Charlie slowly pulls back. His eyes open to see Doc staring at him, eyes dazed, mouth just as flushed as his cheeks. His breath is quick, and Charlie fights the urge to kiss him again because that- _that_ was awesome. He doesn’t give a shit about what Mac says, kissing guys is fucking  _awesome,_ and kissing Doc might be the best thing ever. He _totally_ does have good ideas sometimes.

“Well then...” Doc tries, and his voice is shakier than Charlie’s ever heard it. He swallows, and Charlie is close enough he can see the pale column of his throat work. _Hm._ Charlie kinda wants to kiss there, too. “Why...did you feel the need to do that?”

Charlie grins so widely his cheeks hurt, but can’t help the bashful note in his voice. “'Cause...I wanted to. 'Cause I think about touching you all the time but I don’t 'cause I thought you’d think it was, like, weird? But since we’re friends, I thought maybe...it’d be okay.” His heart shivers in his chest with nerves. “Was it...okay?”

“I...yes,” Doc says, breath not quite restored in his lungs, and Charlie beams. “I never- _Charlie._ You have no idea how much I...” Doc shakes his head, and before his genius brain can overload, Charlie gives Doc’s hip a squeeze. It makes Doc give out a soft noise and laugh, and Charlie loves it.

"Where on Earth did you learn to kiss like that?" Doc asks then, with a lifting eyebrow and the curve of his mouth, and Charlie shrugs, ducking down with a pleased grin. Doc shakes his head again. "All this time."

Charlie nods. “Yeah. It’s crazy. I wanna touch you, like, all the fuckin' time, man.” Charlie wiggles his fingers where his right hand sits at Doc’s neck, and he moves it slowly towards Doc’s face. “Here. And here, and here, and... here.” His hand moves from Doc’s shoulders up to jawline, then to his cheekbones to those coveted crinkles at the corners of Doc’s eyes. Doc blushes, and Charlie smirks.

“Mmm. As do I,” Doc says, and one of his pale hands lifts to card through Charlie’s hair. It tickles, and goosebumps roll up and down his body. The hand moves to Charlie’s gristly cheek, thumb resting on his cheekbone and fingers curling around his ear.

“But I was too afraid to." Doc's voice falls to a whisper, and his thumb swipes across Charlie's cheek. “I couldn't be certain it was something you wanted.”

“Me neither,” Charlie says honestly. “But I...I don’t think I like anybody the way I like you, dude.”

Doc’s eyebrows lift, and his brown eyes shine. “The feeling is...very mutual,” he says, and Charlie loves how Doc’s voice sounds, happy but shaking somewhere underneath. Charlie did that. He makes Doc feel like that. Doc  _likes_ him.

“Can I...do somethin’ dumb again?” Charlie asks, leaning in close. He watches the dark of Doc’s eyes grow bigger.

“You’re not dumb,” Doc says, gaze locked on Charlie’s mouth, voice distant as though the words are only reflex. Charlie tilts his head and kisses him, maybe just for that, but also for the taste. If brushing makes Doc taste like this, he’s going to brush four times a day. He nips and smiles against Doc’s lips as Doc’s hands move up Charlie’s back, crushing him close. He loves the feeling of Doc’s hands, his fingers, his chest, he loves all this shit, why didn’t he do this earlier?

Charlie skims a hand around Doc’s hips to his ass, grabbing at it, and Doc makes another awesome noise that he definitely wants to hear again. He shifts his own hips, leg moving to step between Doc’s to press them even closer, and can’t help the sound that escapes him when friction spits up in his gut like fire. _Fuck, that, more of that-_

Doc breaks away from his mouth with a gasp, saying Charlie’s name in way that he fucking _loves,_ and Charlie’s mouth starts to work down Doc’s jaw to the place where it meets his ear and neck, tasting. Doc’s hips lift against his, and Charlie slides a hand up the back of Doc’s sweater, delighting in the smooth stretch of skin. Doc smells like cologne, just a hint of something that smells clean and crisp, and- and there’s a hint of something else in the air-

“Charlie- Charlie, we forgot-” Doc makes a trembling, half-hearted attempt to lean away, and Charlie’s immediate thought is, _uh, no._ He huffs hot breath alongside Doc’s neck, dragging himself pointedly against the growing hardness in Doc’s dark jeans, and Doc makes a satisfyingly strangled noise. “Charlie, the dinner-”

Is something smoking? Charlie doesn’t care, it might actually be him that’s on fire. _Doc’s definitely smokin’,_ he thinks, and giggles into the warm skin of Doc’s throat.

“Just- one moment, before the flat goes up in flames,” Doc says, like he’s making a bargain, and Charlie reluctantly leans back to meet Doc’s eyes, which are just- so, so dark. He grins-- he did this, he’s good at this. He’d been worried, because Doc was a dude, but this? This is easy. This is _awesome._ They’re going to do this all the time, Charlie decides. Every Saturday, and maybe other days too.

That certainty makes it easier to release his grip. “‘Kay,” he says, dropping his arms. Doc blinks at him for a moment, before moving quickly to the smoking stovetop and dragging the pan by the handle off the range. He switches off the gas with a quivering twist of the hand before slowly turning Charlie’s way.

“I...I’m afraid this will be quite inedible,” he says ruefully, slowly returning to stand in front of Charlie. “I don’t suppose instant rice will be acceptable enough for tonight?”

Charlie rakes a jittery hand through his hair. “Uh. Yeah. For sure.” He waits expectantly, for some reason hesitant to reach back out for Doc again. Doc flushes, eyes sweeping up and down Charlie once in a way that makes him feel hot and nervous.

“Good,” Doc says, and with a quick inhale, he leans forward and puts his hands on Charlie’s cheeks. He tilts Charlie’s head up, just enough to level with Doc’s face, and there’s a moment where he just looks at Charlie. The moment makes him feel naked, like he’s standing there with no clothes on and Doc can see right through him, and when Doc dips to press his mouth against his, it’s like someone’s flicked a lighter at the dead center of his heart.

Doc kisses Charlie like nobody else ever has. It only makes sense, because Doc isn’t like anybody else. He kisses Charlie like he’s not in a rush, like there’s nothing else to do and he plans on taking a while. Doc's hands move in a slow slide up his back, rucking up his sweater, and Charlie needs-

“Charlie,” Doc mouths, lips soft against the crest of his cupid's bow. “Would you mind if we... took this to the bedroom?”

Would he _mind? Hell yeah!_ Uh, hell no. Hell _no_ , he wouldn't mind. He tries to communicate as much, distracted with the direction Doc's hands are moving--- down, definitely down-- the only noise that comes out of his mouth is sounds more like a 'hnnn nnm?'. Doc chuckles and his wandering hands move to twine with his fingers, and when Charlie almost slips on nothing stumbling through the door frame, Doc just smiles at him, nervous and happy, eyes almost crinkled shut. And all Charlie can think is, as he crawls on top of Doc craving the taste of mint, is  _nice._

_Doc is so fuckin’ nice._

* * *

“Hey, man,” Dennis says as Charlie walks into Paddy’s the next day. He tosses a quiet smirk to the rest of the gang, lifting an eyebrow at the prolific hickey blooming on Charlie's neck. “Have a good night, dude?”

The gang watch as Charlie slowly grins, cheeks petal pink.

“God- _fucking_ -damnit,” Mac says.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :))))) hope you guys like it, bc i'm not finished with these two by far. there's something just so...nice about writing such happy fic like this (normally i really struggle to write angst bc it bums me out) and writing these two genuinely just makes me happy??
> 
> let me know what u think and what else you'd like to read with these dweebs in the comments or @Apprenticeofdoyle on tumblr :) tysm for reading!!


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